


Rock The Boat

by BooBalooPants



Category: Titanic (1997)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-10-05 14:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17326598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BooBalooPants/pseuds/BooBalooPants
Summary: Jack/Cal AU. Post-Titanic. In which Jack has survived and is Very Charming and Cal has feelings and is Very Broken (shock-horror). [helpful to have read the other fic first, but not entirely necessary if you just fancy a dodgy au]





	1. Unannounced

**Author's Note:**

> ahoy! I've started a ropey sequel to that even ropier Cal/Jack fic, totally against my better judgement, obviously. It's gonna be all drama and romance and fluff and not much else. Consider this the most self-indulgent fic I've ever attempted. I regret nothing! Okay. I regret many things. But all totally unrelated to this fic.

Cal answered the door half-asleep and more than half-drunk.

It was 12.43am, and the early May air was inconsiderately chillier than he would have liked. Jack's face was bright and warm, though.

Cal decided he must be having a vivid dream. That, or he'd finally cracked. About time, it'd took long enough.

"Hello?" he said, very tentatively.

Jack grinned, full of relief.

"I got the right house, at least."

He laughed, and Cal blinked, attempting to make sense of the laugh. And then the way Jack Dawson stood there, like he was supposed to exist like that, and everything was just fine and normal and... _no, that couldn't be right_.

Cal blinked again, like Jack might disappear.

He didn't though, and Cal thought he might have to accept that he'd  _truly_  lost it.

"You're here," he said, and smiled, deciding not to accept it at all.

"Sorry it's so late. But I couldn't get an earlier train."

Cal rubbed his eyes.

"...train?"

"Yeah. I was sitting next to this elderly man. He slept most of the journey, though. Then a couple came in with their daughter. Nice kid," Jack's grin became softer.

Cal nodded, because he didn't know what else to do.

Perhaps he would wake up soon, and then he'd think about it all, rather morosely, for a little while. And then he'd think about Jack and imagine him, much more that he was supposed to (which was not at all, ideally).

He'd think about him and imagine him, and Cal wouldn't want to get out of bed, as usual.

"Well. Come in," Cal said. "If you want."

He might be losing his mind, but he may as well be hospitable about it.

Jack did come in, but lingered in the hallway, like an apprehensive creature.

"Er. Shall I take my boots off?"

Cal looked him blankly up and down.

"Do whatever you like."

Cal sat on the edge of the couch, and watched as Jack opted to take his boots off, and then he looked about the room with an awe-ridden face.

"I just don't want to get anything dirty," he explained.

"I'm sure it doesn't matter."

It didn't, and Cal was only happy to watch Jack for a little while. He could have watched him for the rest of the dream, and that would have been enough. He sunk back a bit in the couch, massaging his alcohol fuelled head.

Jack sat down next to him. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"You didn't. I'm still asleep," Cal informed him.

"What?" Jack laughed, and Cal had missed that sound too much. Jack's eyes were bright, and watching him intently. He'd missed those too.

Oh, but actually he'd missed _everything._

"You've been drinking," Jack observed. "You really should cut down on that."

Cal scowled. Typical of his own imagination, or lack thereof.

"I'm a little disappointed, Dawson. You've invaded my dreams, and we could be doing literally  _anything at all_  right now. But you have chosen to lecture me about my drinking habits."

Jack smirked at him. " _Anything at all_?"

"...yes."

Cal shouldn't have felt coy about it, but he was, for whatever reason. Dreams were too vivid sometimes, he supposed.

"What would you like to do, then?" Jack asked, and his breath was warm.

Cal realised he'd just gotten much closer.

 _"Kiss me_ ," he demanded. "And make me wake up wanting more."

In waking, it would have been a much scarier proposition. But right now Cal's head was swimming, and Jack was too irresistible.

"Hah," Jack did not look surprise. _Cocky bastard._  "Happy to."

He leaned in, and Cal returned to a bliss he'd long since thought had died with the Titanic. He wondered how he would ever do without it, as he sunk further into the couch and moaned and hoped he'd never wake up again.

It didn't last as long as he would have liked. Jack broke the kiss, and his face was that annoyingly heartfelt frown of concern he'd become too familiar with. Like everything else.

"You look tired. Have you been okay?"

Cal shook his head.

"Not particularly. It's all your fault."

Jack's smile was soft.

"I missed you."

"I miss you all the time," Cal said, not thinking about it. "It's damn inconvenient, actually."

He took a quick breath, very aware that Jack's hands were there, tracing his jaw, and his skin felt like it might be aflame. He didn't want to move though, just in case Jack stopped existing.

"Well, I'm here now," Jack said, and kissed his jawline.

Cal closed his eyes, through a brittle sigh.

"Why are you here? To torture me with a memory?"

"No," Jack said, and kissed him again, more urgently on the mouth. "...I told you. I missed you."

Cal tilted his head away.

The glare of moonlight shone on an empty whiskey glass that sat on the nearby table. Near to it was an untouched letter that had the unmistakeable cursive of the Bukater's. Cal had drank that whiskey and contemplated that letter all night.

Just before Jack had decided to exist again.

Cal stared at the table, violently sobered by such simple realisations.

"What's wrong?" Jack murmured. His mouth was still so close.

Cal shook his head.

"Nothing," and felt himself smile.

_So he was awake, then._

He gripped Jack's shirt, pulling him back down.

88

88

The trouble with Jack's actual existence was that Cal had to deal with the morning after. And Cal didn't deal with the morning after very well on a usual basis, as it was.

The taste of Jack was still in his mouth, and shards of sunlight were catching at Jack's sleeping face and hair, making him look more angelic than usual.  _As if that was even possible._

Cal immediately untangled himself from tightly wrapped limbs, but still couldn't move fast enough.

"Good morning," Jack said, voice crackling with sleep. His fingertips brushed Cal's back.

Cal looked at him, reluctantly.

"Morning."

He got up and wrapped a gown around himself to save some pointless modesty. If fragmented memories of last night were anything to go by, Jack had seen more than enough, and then some.

It was terrifying, if Cal thought about it so much.

Jack smiled and stretched lazily, like he'd read Cal's mortified mind.

"Don't I get a good morning kiss?"

Cal glared at him, smoothed out his gown in an effort of indignation.

"You  _do not_."

Jack's face fell, in a mock sort of upset. "Not a morning person, are you?"

"I'm perfectly wonderful in the morning," Cal assured him. "After a coffee or two...but that is beside the point," he glanced at the clock.  _7.30am_. "You can have breakfast, and then I'll see you out. Preferably before the housekeeper arrives and becomes incredibly suspicious."

Jack's mock upset slipped into something genuine then. Cal didn't like it, so he turned away, and pretended it hadn't happened.

"Cal, I thought we might-"

"Whatever you thought, you thought wrong, Dawson."

He could pretend he'd not said that too, for a little while.

There was too lengthy a pause though, and Cal could imagine Jack's face within it.

"It's 'Jack'," Jack said. "I wish you'd remember."

"What?"

"I told you to call me Jack. That's my name, you know."

The creak of the mattress suggested he was getting up, and the fading pad of footsteps made Cal swallow his nerves, temporarily. Like he could imagine Jack wasn't even there, for a few minutes.

He kept his glare on the window, watching a bird flit through the yellowish morning sky.

"It's not so easy as you think, Jack."

The padding sounds stopped, and there was a sigh, closer than Cal had expected.

Cal turned around, and Jack was standing in the door frame, clothed except for a few undone buttons on his creased shirt. The sunlight made his skin translucent, and Cal's heart could have stopped with the sight of it.

Jack's smile was faint.

"I don't expect it'd be easy, Cal. Not at all. But wouldn't it be worth it?"

Cal turned his glare to the floor, noticing neglected ties and shirts; the remnants of desperate desire, from mere hours earlier. When everything really  _had_ seemed easier, because tomorrow didn't matter at all in the heat of the moment.

Cal returned Jack's faint smile.

"...I thought you were dead," the words could have broken in his mouth. "...it's...it's a lot to take in, that's all."

Jack's frame straightened, as if realising a terrible mistake. He looked suddenly as distraught as Cal felt.

"Cal...I shouldn't have turned up like this. I shouldn't have expected you'd even let me in like this," he shook his head. "Jesus...I'm sorry."

Cal stared at him. "No. You don't understand."

He didn't know if he could stand it much longer; his chest ached, his _entire body_  ached, whenever he looked at Jack for too long.

"You coming back is the best and most _wretched_  thing I could have hoped for," he clenched his hands. "You see...I can't stand wanting something  _so much_ , and not being able to have it."

Jack looked surprised, or something like that, though Cal hardly registered it.

He was too enveloped in his own shame to concentrate on much of anything. He knew that if he waited even a moment longer, Jack would have his way, and that just couldn't be.

Jack was already approaching him, though.

"Why can't you? You can have whatever you want, Cal."

Cal sneered.

"This isn't another dream, Jack."

"Cal-"

"I'm going to be late for work," Cal turned away. "Help yourself to a suitable breakfast. You can see yourself out."

It was all very well,  _wishing_  and  _wanting_ for something, so very intensely. But then, in those rare instances when such desires actually came true, the aftermath could rock and shake an entire world.

Cal thought, as Jack's hand caught his own, and their eyes locked, that his own world might have been rocked completely into the ground.

"Have breakfast with me," Jack said.

And Cal couldn't say no.

Rocked into something unrecognisable, but entirely new, perhaps.

 

 


	2. This Charming Man

In the event of a crisis, Cal would normally consult his father.

Of course it was always strictly business matters. A methodical relay of the problem, a few shady remarks about how he could better have handled the business in the first place, and the inevitable solution that would have Cal feeling a few times smaller than he usually did around his father.

Those sorts of crisis's were still fixable, though. No matter what the collateral damage might be.

Cal's newest crisis was blond and playful and currently trying to bite his mouth open. Cal suspected, at the back of his misted mind, that his father wouldn't be able to handle this sort of crisis very well at all.

"...don't," he protested, feebly.

It was more like a forced obligation. Like he had to kid himself that he didn't want it, when actually he would have done anything for it, in these sorts of moments.

Jack's mouth curved up against his own, a telling smirk, that meant he knew it.

"...I know, you're going to be late," he said, and kissed Cal harder.

Cal was supposed to tell him that it wouldn't have mattered if he was late or not, because such seniority granted him that privilege. Instead he opened his mouth, and let Jack take better advantage. A hand slid under shirt, and Cal slipped back onto the table. Something fell on the floor. Probably broke.

If not for the unmistakable tink of a locked door, Cal probably wouldn't have bothered going into work at all.

He sprang up, knocking Jack off the table just as the kitchen door opened.

"Mr. Hockley, sir. What on earth happened here?"

Mrs. Bardot, the housekeeper, barely looked at them as she bustled through, scowling at the broken pieces of teapot on the floor.

she clicked her tongue, like a disapproving mother.

Mrs. Bardot wasn't like the other housekeepers, and that was why Cal  _almost_  liked her. She was world-weary and middle aged, but that wasn't the important thing. She wasn't afraid of Cal, and she'd even chastise him, and for that he found her interesting.

He smiled thinly. "You're early."

"I'm late. As are you, Mr. Hockley," she corrected, and then seemed to notice Jack and his easy smirk for the first time. She gave him a brief glance over. "Oh. Am I interrupting anything very important?"

Cal wiped his mouth, which was still sore with Jack's teeth.

"Nothing at all. Mr. Dawson is...an old friend. Just came by to visit."

Bardot shook her head, in unashamed amazement. "You keep 'friends', Mr. Hockley? I find that hard to believe."

She began sweeping up the mess of broken china, and Cal could only stare at her, and flounder in quiet indignation.

"You're very rude," he said, at last.

"She seems perfectly charming to me."

Cal glanced at Jack, who was still looking him up and down with a smirk, as if he might want to devour him. That was more embarrassing.

Cal cleared his throat.

"Let me see you out, Dawson."

"Wait, let me help...Miss...?"

Bardot smiled sweetly at Jack. "Mrs. Bardot, young man."

"Oh,  _Mrs._  Of course. Let me help you clean up this mess, first."

Cal rolled his eyes. "Dawson, you don't have to-"

"Oh, he's quite charming, isn't he," Bardot said. "You never know. Might rub off on you one day, Mr. Hockley."

Cal grimaced.

"I don't understand why you're still in my employment."

"It  _is_ a mystery," she agreed.

Cal huffed, and walked out the kitchen to find his briefcase.

Bardot was right; it was 9.48 am and he was already horrendously late. Hockley senior would be having a small aneurysm and ringing around at the seediest bars for him by now, as was the expectation there. Old habits died hard.

Cal looked over his shoulder, heard Jack's easy laughter, and wanted to stay exactly where he was.

"Dawson. _Come on_."

Jack hurried into the hall, waving a fond farewell to Bardot as if he'd known her a hundred years already. Typical of his endless charm.

His mouth trembled like he wanted to laugh, when he looked at Cal.

"What?" Cal snapped. "Are you quite done uprooting my life, now?"

"Not quite," Jack took a step forward, so they were bare inches apart.

His hands reached, and found Cal's unbuttoned and crumpled collar. He fastened it with the greatest of care.

Cal sighed, and it was supposed to be exasperated, but it was much more turbulent than that.

"Do you actually _want_  people to find out?" he hissed, and batted the hands away.

Jack's smile became wry.

"So. What are we going to do?"

"About what?" Cal opened the door, and the morning sun streamed in, hitting his face and reawakening a dormant hangover.

"Mr. Hockley," Mrs. Bardot called, from the kitchen. "Shall I set dinner for Mr. Dawson this evening, too?"

"...what?"

Cal glared at Jack, who's play at innocence was extremely deceptive.

Jack shrugged. "I didn't say a word."

"...Mr. Hockley?"

Cal cursed under his breath.

"Yes. _Fine_. Whatever you like."

8

Obviously Jack couldn't come to the workplace.

Besides the very real possibility that his father might have that little aneurysm, there was also the unspoken but clearest idea that Jack stuck out like the sorest thumb.

Cal didn't mind that behind closed doors, but suddenly they were both outside, in the busy other world of Pittsburgh, and everyone could see he and Jack walking together. It shouldn't have been so awful, but it actually was.

Cal couldn't help his terrible pride.

"We're only walking together," Jack said.

He'd sensed it at once, of course he had.

"Are you embarrassed of me?"

"I'm  _very_  embarrassed. But not for the reasons you think," Cal said.

A half truth, as they reached the train station, and Cal sat down on the bench. Tapped his foot, in the most nervous habit.

"What's the problem, then?"

"You know very well," Cal kept his gaze ahead. He watched the line tracks, listening for salvation in the form of a train. "We can't do this."

"What? Talk?"

"Don't play oblivious, Dawson."

There was a short pause.

Then Jack piped up again, conversationally.

"Your housekeeper is nice. Seems to know how to deal with you pretty well."

Cal reluctantly slid his gaze, to frown at Jack. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. She's just nice."

"She's horrendously unprofessional. And lucky to still be in my employment, to be frank."

"And yet you still keep her around," Jack grinned.

Cal turned to look properly at Jack.

"Yes, but I seem to be keeping a lot of nuisances around lately, don't I?"

"Yeah. You must be some sort of masochist."

Cal couldn't help a sneer.

"Must be."

The bellied noise of the train vibrated along the tracks then, and came into sight.

Cal stood up, and Jack followed.

"Can't we just try?" Jack said suddenly, his hand on Cal's arm was tight and imploring. " _Please?_ "

Cal hesitated, steam coiling round them and briefly obstructing his view of anything but Jack's earnest face.

He took a short step back, shrugging Jack's hold away.

"Dinner is at six sharp, Dawson."

He didn't wait for Jack to answer him. He had to go, before he changed his mind about everything.

Jack waved from the platform, and Cal turned his head away, watching the stream of smoke creep from his cigarette around the carriage.

88

88

Problems, but fixable ones, happened constantly at the workplace.

Cal took his father's advice, and struck off a list of workers he knew by last name or by number, and passed the message along thoughtlessly. He'd become immune to it, or as numbed to the process as his very limbs had been in icy ocean.

Seeking his father's approval had become something of a bland and numbing process itself, though.

_This isn't good enough. I expect more. Is this really all you've got?_

The usual hit-backs. Cal used to flinch and take them more personally. He still did, but he'd created a sort of deflective shield in recent years.

_I can't help that the staff are incompetent. It was out of my hands. I can't be held responsible for that._

It was easier to pass blame on to someone else. Again, it was useful being immune to conscience sometimes.

Nathan Hockley rarely took such excuses lying down, though.

"It's disappointing, Caledon. How am I expected to entrust the business to you if you can't deal with a minor setback?"

Cal stubbed his cigarette out, and stared at the engraved ashtray for a minute.

"I received a letter, from Mrs. Bukater."

His father raised a sceptical brow, not entirely surprised by the shift in conversation. "Oh? Definitely a 'Mrs.' was it?"

Cal smiled, ignoring his snide tone. "Yes. You can be assured that there won't be anymore correspondences between us. Ruth nor Rose."

"It is disappointing for you," Nathan said. "Rose was ill mannered, but not untrainable."

"We were incompatible. It would not have worked."

"You'd do better not to consider those small details in your next match, then, Caledon."

It wasn't a suggestion. Cal could recognise the warning in both his father's words and his eyes. He'd seen it come to devastating conclusion too many times before. He was wiser than to argue it these days.

"I met an old friend yesterday evening. You might meet him," he said instead. It was almost more impudent than anything else he could have said. A petty but very secret dig.

"Oh?" Nathan sounded disinterested. "An old university friend, is it?"

Cal smiled slightly. "No. He is...a character, though."

"A 'character'? Caledon, I hope you're not keeping questionable company again."

Cal's back shivered with the implication, and he quickly swallowed the nausea that accompanied unwanted memories. He directed his gaze out the window, already knowing his father's savage scowl well enough.

"No. He's quite amusing company, really. I'm sure you'd like him. He's staying at my house for a little while."

He couldn't stop running his mouth, like a wilful plunge into the snake pit. Just a test, to see how long it took to make his father bite.

Nathan's eyes were narrowed. Not in concern, because he didn't do that.

"Caledon. Have you considered hiring yourself a new valet yet? It has been over a month, after all."

He never referred back to the Titanic properly. Just 'it', or perhaps 'that unfortunate incident', if he was feeling less callous about it. For a while it had been a grateful gesture. Now, Cal only felt resentful about it.

His father did not know the extent of it, how  _terrible_  it had actually been, and yet Cal was supposed to carry on anyway, like nothing had happened.

Of course half of it was related to Jack Dawson, and Cal could never tell his father that. But he would still have liked to have told him a little. If only to give him an impression of what it'd _felt_  like.

"I'm still considering valets. There's no immediate necessity for one."

Nathan did not look convinced, but he didn't broach it further.

Instead he turned his attention back to the paperwork, and Cal braced himself once more. Numbed and prepared for the onslaught of another critical appraisal.

It was more tolerable than the other conversation, at least.

"I'll meet him tomorrow evening then, Cal."

Cal nodded, swallowing the dryness that had suddenly touched his throat.

8

8

"My father would like to meet you."

Jack blinked up from his plate, in some confusion.

"What?"

"He's coming to dinner tomorrow evening. You should create a story of some sort," Cal pressed his fork, distractedly, into his food. "If you act as you did at the dinner party, you'll be fine, I'm sure."

Jack looked shell shocked. "Does he know?"

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous," Cal baulked. "But that's no reason not to make a good impression."

"I see," Jack hesitated, and looked plainly nervous for the first time. "Well. I guess I'll try."

Cal attempted a smile.

"Perhaps I can find you some suitable clothes to wear after dinner. We are a similar size."

"We are," Jack's grin was translated through his tone, and his hand crept across the table. It barely stroked across Cal's. "Was it your suggestion?"

"No," Cal said. "But I did tell him an old friend was visiting."

"Old friend, huh? Guess I need to work out that back story."

"Like I said, act as you did at the dinner party. You'll pass with flying colours and my father will be falling all over you. Like everyone else, apparently."

The words were intended as a warning, since Mrs. Bardot had just walked into the kitchen. Jack quickly retracted his hand and cleared his throat.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Bardot said, "forgive me for overhearing, but Hockley senior is a difficult character, isn't he, Mr Hockley?"

Cal smiled sarcastically. "Thanks for your unwanted opinion, Mrs. Bardot."

"Sorry, sir," she said, but then looked at Jack with an easier expression. "Still, if anyone can charm him, it would be the lovely Mr. Dawson, wouldn't it?"

Jack smiled at her appreciatively.

Cal looked away, in silent despair.

It was true though; his father was too difficult, and Cal couldn't imagine him warming up to Jack at all, no matter how incredibly charming he was. Be he friend or, dare he say it, anything more than that.  _Especially_  that.

But in that endless and useless strive for approval, he'd allowed this event to proceed, and soon he'd know for sure whether his father hated Jack a lot or just a little bit.

Maybe he'd forgotten that he was supposed to be mending the damage that Jack had dropped into his life, not making it worse.

As it was, he seemed to have allowed himself to step into a speeding car, and Jack was the one at the steering wheel, driving them into something that felt right, even if it was unprecedented insanity.

"Well. I would like to meet your father," Jack said, after a moment.

Cal smiled faintly. "Let the nightmare commence, then."

There was no point in putting on the breaks just yet.

 

 


	3. Senseless

Mrs. Bardot cleaned up the dinner plates, and Cal and Jack were soon left to themselves in the dining room for the evening.

In that time, Cal slowly began to absorb the idea that his father would be sitting there this time tomorrow, casting judgement and figuring it all out. It was a mistake, and Cal wondered,  _again_ , when it was that he'd lost his mind. He thought about cancelling everything.

"Have you spoken to Rose?"

It was strange, hearing Jack say 'Rose' again.

Cal imagined them together briefly, with a terrible clench in his stomach. Of course Jack would have brought it up sooner or later, it was only a matter of time, but that didn't make it any easier to bear.

"...Cal?"

Jack was still sitting at the dining room table, but he'd noticed the untouched Bukater letter with an intrigued face.

Cal snatched it up, disturbing some other nameless papers on the table top. Jack had gathered them back together before Cal realised they were his drawings.

"What does it matter?" he hoped Jack wouldn't notice his irritation.

He did, of course.

"I'm sorry if it's difficult. I just wondered, that's all."

Cal folded the letter into his pocket.

"It's not difficult. Just unfortunate."

"Is Rose alright?"

"Fine," Cal hesitated. "So far as I'm aware, anyway. All of my correspondences have been with  _Mrs_. Bukater."

"Her mother?" Jack looked surprised.

"As the name would imply, yes."

Cal reached across the table, to pick up one of Jack's drawings. It was a detailed sketch of an elderly man in a long coat and scarf, leaning against a brick wall.

"I thought you might have been in touch with Rose first," he frowned at the drawing. "He looks rather sad, doesn't he?"

Jack shrugged.

"He just had a sad face. He was nice to talk to, though."

"I suppose," Cal couldn't really see it. "So you haven't attempted to contact Rose at all?"

"Why would I?"

"...I don't know."

Cal quickly replaced the drawing, and could still feel Jack's eyes on him, as he began tidying up the rest of his own strewn out paperwork.

"Does Ruth still have the diamond?" Jack asked, suddenly.

Cal paused.

"She does," he smiled tightly at the table. "There was little choice in the matter, Dawson."

"Will she say anything? I mean, about us?"

Their eyes locked.

Jack wasn't going to let it go, not yet.

For a moment Cal could have pretended he didn't care. But Jack looked too concerned, and he'd just given voice to the very question, the  _nightmare,_ that Cal didn't want to think about. And still he did think about it, every day since the Titanic had sunk.

"I don't know," he said finally. "But whenever I open another damn letter it invites the possibility."

He walked over to the screened door and looked through to see the beautiful garden, bathed dusty-pink by late sunset. He didn't go into it much at all; he couldn't even recall the last time he had. But it was oddly nice to look at now, in these moments of unwarranted anxiety.

He heard a chair scrape back, behind him.

"She's blackmailing you, Cal."

He turned his head, to see the vivid detail in Jack's blue and uncharacteristically stern eyes.

Cal smiled at them.

"Naturally _._ "

"But she has the  _diamond_. What more can she want from you?"

Cal wanted to laugh.

It wasn't that he thought Jack could be stupid.

Quite the contrary; he knew that Jack was very smart, smarter than himself in too many ways, though he wouldn't want to admit it.

But Jack was never going to understand the sordid underbelly of high society; the snakes with their sharp tongues, hiding behind human masks. Bored by money, entertained by scandal, and so  _desperate_  to keep their status.

Cal knew them all very well. He sat amongst them, and he was one of them.

He wondered how long it would take, before Jack knew him much better, and realised it too.

Cal swallowed a nauseous feeling.

"Perhaps Mrs. Bardot can assist you in finding some decent attire tomorrow. Whilst I'm at work."

Jack's eyes narrowed. " _Cal_..."

"You don't need to wear anything too formal. It's only a small family type dinner," Cal turned to the door, avoiding Jack's intrusive stare. "We'll be eating a little later, though. My father prefers that."

Jack caught his arm.

"Cal, can we just talk-"

" _No_."

Cal shrugged him roughly off.

"There's nothing to talk about, Dawson."

He took a moment, to compose himself.

"I've had Bardot prepare the guest bedroom for you. It's a short-term arrangement, you understand? Before you find your own place."

It was more difficult to look at Jack than it was to speak to him, though he hadn't meant to sound so barbed.

"Okay," Jack said, shortly.

He brushed past Cal without another word, and Cal watched him disappear down the hallway, and up the stairs.

He wondered if he would have preferred Jack to object, or put up some sort of _fight_ about it. Knock or slap some sense into him, at least. Or just render him  _more_  senseless perhaps, to forget it all for a little while. It seemed more preferable to anything else right now.

Cal shook his head to himself. Maybe he really was a masochist.

It would explain recent dinner plans, and an apparent inability to kick Jack out of the house, like any logical person would have done by now.

"Oh, Mr. Hockley. You do look rather pale. Is it another migraine?"

Cal turned his head.

Mrs. Bardot was standing in the hallway. Her brow was furrowed lines of disapproval, but there was something softer in her eyes.

Cal pushed stray tendrils of hair out of his face.

"It's nothing," he said, and dismissed her.

But Jack wasn't nothing. He was more like an alarm bell, accompanying a headache, ringing in his mind _._

Cal just couldn't find the 'off' switch.

8

8

The bed smelt of Jack, too. That was another problem.

It was that dusty but comfortable scent, the sort that Cal could associate with expert hands and mouth and skin. The scent that took him back to instances of carelessness, in which nothing else mattered or was worth caring about. It was dangerous to lie there for too long though; he thought his body might turn to fire if he did.

He tossed onto his side, and stared at the wall. Tried to find something familiar, like _reason_. He could imagine Jack would be gone by the end of tomorrow, and that would be the end of it. It was almost possible, if he pretended.

It was all for nothing, though.

He was still awake an hour later, when there was a tentative knock at the door.

"...Cal?" said Jack's quiet voice.

"Yes," Cal said, too immediately.

His heart jumped as the door creaked open, and the smallest slit of light followed through it.

At first Cal thought he was dreaming again.

Jack's silhouette was clear on the wallpaper, all angled and graceful, and getting larger. Then it disappeared, as the mattress creaked with a cautious weight.

Cal didn't attempt to turn around, as heat met his back and arms coiled slowly around him, joining together at his stomach. He took a shortened breath, and felt the soft press of hands moving on his chest. He exhaled again, very unevenly.

"...you shouldn't be here."

There was warm breath, on the back of his neck.

"I know. I'm sorry," Jack did sound sorry.

Cal smiled, despairingly, at the wall. Still unable to move.

"You want us to get caught?"

The weight shifted behind him, but closer. Then a mouth pressed, lightly, to his neck.

"No. I just want to be with you."

Cal could have melted into the words. He held his breath, and let Jack's mouth press again, and then again.

It was stupid things like that which made him realise he was helpless. Unable to decline or refuse or argue anything that Jack said to him.

Cal wasn't used to such weakness. And it _wasn't fair._

It should have been an awful revelation, and it  _was_ , in the back of his usual and sensible mind.

"Mrs. Bardot has probably gone to sleep now," Jack said.

Like it was a good enough reason.

Cal slowly turned his head.

"'Probably' being the point of contention, Dawson."

Jack's outline was dark, but distinct enough to be able to see the slightest curve of his mouth, just before it was blurring and close.

And in his usual and sensible mind, Cal would have been able to stop it. Would have remembered poisonous friends, his father's words, and his own name, in complete ruin.

As it was, Jack's mouth was too soft, and Cal didn't think about any of that. He didn't think about anything much at all, as he twisted onto his back, and let Jack cover him completely.

Jack was too good at making him senseless, and making him forget.

And wasn't that what he'd wanted, anyway?

_It wasn't fair._

88

88

He woke to the stream of sunlight, casting across the bed and tangled bed sheets. There was an empty spot where Jack was supposed to be, and Cal placed his hand there, fingers curling into still-warm sheets.

He hadn't heard Jack leave, but he appreciated the discretion. Especially when a knock and a push at the door revealed Mrs. Bardot.

"Breakfast is ready, Mr. Hockley. Mr. Dawson is downstairs, fresh as a handsome daisy," she did a double take. "Were you just  _smiling_?"

Cal rubbed his eyes and sat up. He rearranged his face into a scowl.

"The point of your knocking is to  _wait,_  Mrs. Bardot. And then I tell you if you can come in or not. That's how it usually works."

"I'm sure it is, but I have no time for that. My list of chores is quite endless today, no thanks to your habit of leaving brandy glasses all over the place," she shook out a blanket, and frowned at him. "I wish you would quit. Or take your troubles to a bar, perhaps? At least you'd meet someone there."

"I can't remember giving you permission to criticise my drinking habits. You're almost as bad as Jack."

"Well," Bardot paused, and looked Cal up and down with a more considered nod. "Mr. Dawson speaks sense then. Do forgive my bluntness, Mr. Hockley."

"Hm. I'll think about it."

He wasn't really annoyed. Mrs. Bardot was insubordinate but wise, and sometimes seemed like she cared about more than just her wage packet at the end of every month.

"Jack is up, then?" he pretended to care less about it.

"Yes, just helping me wash up some plates. He is such a  _good_  man, Mr. Hockley. I don't know how on earth you had the good fortune to rub shoulders with one so kind."

"It's a mystery, isn't it? Almost as mysterious as your continued employment to me," Cal said. "Now, if you've finished insulting me, is there anything else?"

"Only a reminder that your father is gracing you with his presence this evening. Though I'm sure you're already well aware of that."

Cal gritted his teeth, and every reason why he'd gone to bed last night, before Jack had come to him, violated his mind again.

"Yes. I'm painfully aware."

He wondered whatever had possessed him.

88

88

It must have been another wild bend in that imaginary car; the one that Jack had taken complete control of, and didn't seem to care about breaks or stop signs, or consequences. Or anything like that.

Jack was kind and decent and oh  _so charming_ , yes. But he'd also never met Hockley Senior.

It was too late now, though.

It was 5pm, and Jack was looking at himself in the mirror, practising a fearless greeting and a firm handshake, and Cal just sat there wanting to smile at him.

"Your back needs to be a bit straighter."

"Cal. If I straighten it anymore I'll never be able to bend down  _again._ "

Cal sneered. "Ah. The endless joys of formality, Dawson. Being stiff as a board is a given."

"I don't know. You're pretty flexible," Jack said, nonchalantly.

Cal could have choked, and a red heat crawled up his face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he stood up and cleared his throat. "You better be on your best behaviour anyway, Dawson."

"You talk like your father is going to eat me alive or something."

Cal smiled grimly. "He might."

Jack laughed in the mirror.

"Surely he isn't that bad?"

"Oh, he is," Mrs. Bardot whisked into the room, unannounced as usual. She laid some clothes out on the bed, and looked at Jack with unashamed admiration. "Where else do you think Mr. Hockley inherited his terrible disposition from, my dear?"

"Please shut up and go away, Mrs. Bardot," Cal told her.

"You see, a perfect example," she batted away Cal's words, then looked at him more critically. "Mr. Hockley. Your tie is quite atrocious."

"Didn't I tell you to shut up and go away?"

But he let her straighten the tie up, and he noticed Jack grinning behind her.

Jack did look very good in a suit, but of course Cal already knew that. It was like a flashback, for a few moments.

"You know that if I don't point it out, your own father so kindly will," Bardot said, adjusting his tie again, and then her features might have become less sharp around the edges. " _Oh._  But you  _do_  look rather handsome, Mr. Hockley. You should do that more often."

"Pardon me?" Cal blinked slowly away from Jack, in confusion.

" _Smile_ ," she said, and rolled her eyes. "It really does suit you. Doesn't it, Mr. Dawson?"

"I should say it does. Though I think he looks rather handsome either way."

"You're too charming," Bardot said. "Isn't he, Mr. Hockley?"

"Can't you remember when I told you to shut up," Cal hoped neither of them had noticed his own embarrassment. " _Please_. Just make sure the table and food is ready."

Bardot left without fuss, and Cal concentrated on the mirror again, trying to straighten the tie a little more.

Jack was still smirking behind him.

"She's right, though. About your smile. It's very...what's a fancy word? 'Becoming'? "

Cal scoffed. Then he did smile, very sarcastically.

"I'd rather you didn't make me want to vomit, Dawson. This evening is already going to be awful enough."

Jack shook his head. He placed his hands on Cal's shoulders, and gave them a squeeze.

"It's going to be  _fine_ ," he spoke with such certainty that Cal could have believed it.

He did want to, but a miracle seemed too much of a stretch.

"You don't know my father, Dawson. He's worse than me."

Jack laughed. "Well I do like a challenge."

He tilted his head, so that their mouths brushed together, very delicately.

Cal hung onto the sensation as he went downstairs, heart hammering.

Mrs. Bardot was already opening the front door, and Hockley senior stepped inside with a voice that demanded everyone's attention. He looked at Cal before anything else.

"Evening, Caledon."

88

 

 

 


	4. Consequence

"I'm afraid you're rather unmemorable to me, Mr. Dawson."

"I'm sorry to hear it, sir," Jack smiled pleasantly. "Must have gotten lost amongst the rest of Cal's good friends over the years."

Jack was doing a fine job, considering everything. So fine in fact, that Cal could almost have relaxed and actually eaten some of his dinner, but that would have been an amateur mistake.

Nathan Hockley didn't miss anything, and through a three-course meal dowsed in alcohol, idle chatter and cigar smoke, his dark eyes only seemed to get keener. Cal could feel his backbone becoming tension-straight by the minute, yet still somehow breaking at the same time.

He lit up another cigarette, and concentrated a smile in Jack's direction.

"I know Dawson from the old college country club. We used to play cards there together. He was quite bad, as I recall."

"That's funny," Jack said. "I can't recall you ever winning."

"I had to let you win sometimes. It would have been cruel not to."

They both exchanged smirks from across the table, and Cal felt a bit better for it. It was like a secret reprieve between them, and Cal was trying his subtle best to make it easier on Jack.

But Jack already seemed to understand the situation. From the moment Nathan had introduced himself, and taken Jack's hand in a forced grip, he knew he was being primed for some kind of interrogation.

"Cal is a so-so poker player," Nathan said, dismissing them both. He sucked indulgently on a large cigar. "He has little tactical foresight. Rather fails to see the bigger picture," he paused, as if in reflection. "But a good poker face, I suppose. I'll give him that."

The smoke was already a thick mist above them all, and it almost helped. Cal could pretend his father's hazy face was not really there, and there was only really Jack in the flesh, sat opposite him.

"I don't care much for cards these days, as it happens," Jack said. "They only seem to get me in tight spots."

"Oh? Do you gamble, Mr. Dawson?"

"I do," Jack seemed to think about it. "But only for things I feel pretty strongly about."

Nathan snorted.

"Sounds rather backwards to me. Even a little _reckless_. Wouldn't you say so, Cal?"

Cal looked to the side, aware that his father wanted a very particular response. Be damned if he knew what it was this time, though.

Jack spoke for him, anyway;

"I don't know about that, sir. Perhaps it is reckless. But if you win it means so much more, doesn't it?"

"Gambling isn't winning," Nathan said. "It's all luck."

Jack shrugged.

"Maybe I've made my own, then."

Cal looked up, and returned Jack's careful smile.

It was difficult though, more than he'd expected it to be.

He'd never been outright humiliated in front of anyone by his father, but that was never usually Nathan Hockley's intention.

He always liked to be subtle about it, tiny but persistent digs under the skin, that guests wouldn't think twice about. It was so much more  _personal_ that way, and so long as Cal got the message, it didn't much matter if anyone else noticed. And who could argue against something that no-one else could see, anyway? Cal would've been considered more of a fool for it.

But at least he'd been able to get used to that. Some sort of silver lining. The digs were tiring, but always predictable.

There was something unsettling about the way his father looked tonight, though. Every other comment was like an unlit explosive, waiting for Cal to light up with his own short fuse. It made sense; of course his father knew him best, and shared his own awful temper.

"Speaking of luck, Cal hasn't had much of it lately. I don't know if you're aware of his recent affairs, Mr. Dawson?"

Jack looked at Nathan. "I don't believe so, sir."

"That isn't surprising," Nathan waved a hand, like he was irritated by the air. "That whole to-do with the Titanic. Very unfortunate business, wasn't it, Cal?"

Cal took a long drink of his brandy, enjoying the burn.

He smiled tightly. "Unfortunate is one word for it."

His father was using a more direct tactic now,and Cal realised he couldn't do very much about it. Abject humiliation seemed to have become the theme of his recent life, and he wondered if he should just try to embrace it.

"It was a tragedy," Jack said. His face had sobered, and his hands balled into visible fists on the table. "I don't...I can't imagine what people went through."

Cal knew that he was imagining every moment aboard the ship.  _Every single conflicting_ moment, just like himself.

He took another shot of brandy.

"Oh yes. Well that was unfortunate of course," Nathan said. "But besides all that bother, Cal went and lost himself a fortune _and_  a fiancee. Quite spectacular," he laughed crudely. "I suppose he hasn't told you about that, Dawson?"

Jack looked at Cal. "It hasn't really come up. I imagine it was a terrible experience. No-one really likes to remember."

"Well yes, and nobody wants to brag about all their losses."

Cal clenched his jaw and his brandy glass.

"Is this appropriate conversation?"

Nathan's face was mock-surprise. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Cal stubbed the ash from his cigarette, and set his glare on a spoiled bowl of fruit.

"No reason at all."

"And what is brief misfortune amongst old friends, Mr. Dawson, if we can't all laugh about it?" Nathan laughed again. "I'm sure you can relate to matters of the heart, especially?  _Women_  trouble, I mean."

Jack cleared his throat, nodded diplomatically.

"Sometimes it just takes a little longer," he paused, eyes flitting across the table. "To find the right one, I mean."

"And have _you_?"

The question was unnecessarily severe, matching Nathan's expectant face.

"Maybe," Jack said. "I think I might have, actually."

Cal's heart thundered, between nerves and something else that he couldn't define. He kept his eyes on the table, hardly daring to imagine what Jack's face might have looked like in that moment.

He didn't  _want_  to know it; it would have been either too wonderful or too terrible, and he wasn't sure he could bear either outcome. They'd both be disastrous.

"How wonderful for you," Nathan said blandly. "We can only hope Cal finds some of your good fortune one day."

"I'm sure he will. He's a fine man, Mr. Hockley, sir."

"That is still up for debate," Nathan gestured to Cal for a light, as he pulled out another cigar from his jacket.

_So he was just getting started, then._

Cal lit a match and then the cigar, and imagined himself setting the other man aflame, and being done with it. It would have been amusing for a few seconds, but perhaps not worth the consequences.

He waved the match out instead, and smiled grimly at his father.

"If only I could live up to such incredible standards."

"I only ask that you be competent, Caledon. Is that asking a miracle, now?"

Nathan looked at Jack, as if he was supposed to answer for him, and involve himself in an ugly and aged family rule that he had no business with. Cal would have been embarrassed, if not so angry first.

Jack didn't say anything, though.

He should have looked uncomfortable. Instead he looked at Cal as though he wanted to help him, and nothing else.

Nathan didn't seem to notice.

"I always think," he said, slowly. "It is _far more_  humiliating to bring failure on such a rich and privileged family as ours, than it is for the common man to fail. Don't you think so? The odds are so stacked in our favour, after all. Failure seems an impossibility, at  _worst_."

He took a deep drag on his cigar, smoke blooming obnoxiously around the table.

"I mean, how pathetic would it be, to see a man who has been gifted  _all_ the opportunity in _all_  the world, _all_  the money at his feet, and he can still  _screw it up._ "

He turned to Cal, and Cal held his gaze. Unflinching, for a few precious moments.

But he had to turn away. His throat felt too tight.

Nathan laughed, and the table shook with it.

"A dire thought, isn't it?" he slammed a fist down, in a vindictive sort of merriment.

Jack startled with the sound, and leaned back in his chair.

Cal looked past the both of them, stubbing out the last of his cigarette.

"I'm rather tired," he said, in monotone.

"Just tired, son? Or tired of this?"

The edge in his voice was there to provoke, but Cal didn't think he had the energy for it anymore.

"Just tired," he stood up, feeling immune to formality for just a moment. "It's getting late, anyway."

He nodded at the door, and Nathan looked at him as though he'd done something much worse.

"Struck a nerve, have I? You have far too many of those, you know."

Cal smiled at the table.

"Like I said, I'm rather tired."

There was a gruelling pause, in which the only sound was the diligent tick of the dining room clock, and the thick mist of cigar smoke seemed suddenly an ominous cloud around them.

Nathan Hockley's eyes had become slits, but he looked at Jack.

"I'm afraid my son has always been the impudent kind," he seemed to consider Jack's entire form then, as if weighing him up physically, or scanning him for deception. "It is regretful."

Jack's stare was resolute.

"Sir," he said. "I've always tended to believe that whatever we might have regretted...well, it's done now, isn't it? No point bringing it back up, is there?"

Nathan looked amused.

"I appreciate that piece of philosophy, Mr. Dawson. Though I fear I must give you a more practical piece of advice," he pressed the cigar out in the ashtray. "You see, I think it would be wise if you were to stay out of my son's business. It's nothing against you personally, you seem perfectly respectable by all accounts. That is in fact why I give such advice."

Cal rolled his eyes.

"Father,  _please_ -"

Nathan raised a hand, the signal of inarguable silence.

"And furthermore, though I have no power over whatever  _deviance_  my son might get up to, I can assure you that it will have it's consequences, regarding myself."

Jack stared at him, and Cal turned away and looked out the window. He could feel his face burning, and it was more painful than any backhand might have been.

Silence hung around them all, in an awful moment.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," Jack said, at last. "Cal is...just a friend of mine."

Nathan's sneer twitched, and his gaze lingered on him, as if he'd expected Jack to say something else.

Then he looked at Cal, as if he'd only just appeared.

"Good," he said. "Very good."

He stood up, but slowly, as if relishing every second of the torturous quiet.

Mrs. Bardot was waiting in the hallway, her face a mask of startling professionalism as she opened the door for him. It was dark outside, but not that late, really.

Nathan turned around with a smile that did not extend to his eyes.

"I'll be seeing you then, Cal. Mr. Dawson."

8

8

"It's true. Your father really is awful."

Cal blinked, out of a strange daze.

Jack was standing there in the doorway. He looked like he'd just run a marathon; chest moving very fast, fingers rushing through damp hair, and brow deeply furrowed. Cal had never seen him look so unsettled, but then he understood; Jack was angry.

Cal smiled wearily at him.

"I did warn you, Dawson."

"You didn't. You just said he might  _eat_  me."

"Yes. That was the warning," Cal sank back into a chair and rested his head in his hands. He felt tired in every way, like something had been drained out of him. "But at least it's over with now."

"Cal, what did he mean by-"

"I don't know. I don't know what he means," Cal looked up, suddenly noticing Jack's stricken face. He tried to smile again. "But you did fine, Dawson. Don't worry about that."

Jack didn't look relieved about it.

He walked over, but didn't sit down. Instead he reached out and placed a hand on Cal's shoulder.

"I'm sorry you have to deal with that, Cal."

Cal sneered. "It's nothing."

"No, it's  _terrible_ ," Jack's hand curled, clutching Cal's shoulder properly. "I don't know why you let him speak to you like that. And all that stuff he said-"

"It's  _nothing_ , Jack."

Cal reached round, to find Jack's grasping hand.

He intended to pull it away, but for some reason he didn't have the strength for it. So he just left his hand there, and felt fingers linking into his own.

They unlocked before Mrs. Bardot came back into the room.

"Sirs," she said. "Will you be needing anything else, before you go recover from this awful night?"

Jack smiled at her.

"You could have sorted him out for us, Mrs. Bardot. I'm sure."

"I should say not," but she seemed to consider it. "Unless I get a grand bonus of some kind. What do you say to that, Mr. Hockley?"

Cal blinked, snapping on an automatic frown.

"I suppose," he wasn't really listening. He straightened up a bit, remembering himself. "I'm going to bed."

"Are you going to be alright?"

Jack's voice was full of concern, and Cal wanted to hate him for it. But he couldn't, so he batted away Jack's entire form, and walked out the room instead.

"I'll be fine."

88

88

Of course he wasn't fine, but he was good at lying.

It should have been an easy play at the dinner, but he hadn't expected his father's words to get to him like that. Cal was used to manipulating things to his own ends, smoothing over family quarrels or sweeping them under the rug, even if they were still unresolved. Under normal circumstances it would have been easy.

But Jack wasn't normal circumstances, and Cal had seen the way his father had looked at him.

 _Of course_  he suspected something, at the very least...

It was a glaring red flag, and the perfect opportunity to kick Jack out and forget about that one time his life had nearly fallen apart because of another man. And yet, amidst an entire week of unanswered Bukater letters and his father's suggestive comments at work, Cal still found Jack a happy relief, even if he was also the problem.

He was just too distracting, especially at night time.

"I don't want to be a burden," Jack said, early one morning at the kitchen table.

Cal looked up from his newspaper.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm gonna look for a job. Earn my keep here. I mean, for as long as you want me here."

Cal looked at him curiously. "What will you do?"

"Drawings. I can sell a few, I guess."

Cal raised a brow.

"I don't need your pocket money, Dawson."

"That's not the point," there was an unusual edge to Jack's voice, before Cal realised,  _too late_ , he'd insulted him. "I don't want to have to _live_  off you. I want to earn my way. I'm not a bum."

"I didn't say you were. I just don't mind if you don't give me money," Cal looked uncomfortably to the side, and lowered his voice. "How would it look, anyway? People might start to think this is a permanent arrangement."

Jack shrugged. "I don't care."

"Well I  _do_ ," Cal shook the newspaper back up, obstructing his view of Jack just a little.

Jack made a huffing sound.

"Well. Why don't we just up and leave, then?"

"What?"

" _Leave_. Just leave the whole damn town behind. We can start up somewhere else."

Cal lowered the paper again, and watched Jack in disbelief.

"'Somewhere else'? Where exactly is 'somewhere else', may I ask?"

"I dunno. California...Los Angeles?  _New York_ , even. Just somewhere  _else_ , away from  _here_."

He didn't look frustrated. More hopeful, as if he was pitching an idea that wasn't insane. Cal thought he'd be terrible at business propositions.

He pursed his lips, and decided to humour him anyway.

"You do have some interesting ideas, Dawson. I'll give you that."

Jack leaned across the table, arms spread out, eyes sparking with childish inspiration.

"So let's do it, then. I mean what's even stopping us?"

"Hm. I don't know," Cal pretended to ponder. "How about... _e_ _verything_?"

"What? Your job? You can get another one, no problem."

Cal turned back to the newspaper and scoffed.

"You make everything sound so perfectly easy, Dawson."

"It  _can_  be easy. What's stopping us? Your father? He isn't-"

"Dawson _..._ "

"Why would you even want to  _stay_  around here? With the sort of people-"

" _Jack_!" Cal slammed the paper down. "We're _not leaving!_  We're not going to Florida or California or _god damn New York city_. It is  _not_   _happening_."

He trembled, in a rage that wasn't so sudden as he would have liked.

It always happened like that though; festering and waiting for a desperate sort of release. And then the obvious regret when red mist had cleared, and his target was looking at him like he'd pulled out a gun. Or something equally ridiculous as that.

The whole world always became so deathly quiet too.

Then Cal remembered his father's own unwarranted rage, like countless flashbacks. He couldn't let Jack see that, in any form.  _Especially_  not his own.

He took a breath, keeping his glare on the table. Fingers curling into palms, nails cutting to skin, and spoke more softly;

"You don't understand, Jack. It's different for me. I can't just  _leave_."

He looked at Jack then.

"...there are consequences."

It was the sort of finality that was supposed to make him feel better. Like a reasonable excuse.

But he was just echoing his father's threat.

Worse than that; Jack only looked disappointed. It was somehow more upsetting.

"You're right, Cal. I don't understand," he said, and then stood up. "But I want to  _try._ That's all I want to do."

They stared at each other for a long moment. The sun filtered through the kitchen window, creating soft bars of light, and dust dotted delicately between them. Like the settling aftermath of a storm.

Then Jack walked out the kitchen, and Cal was alone again.

He stared at the empty chair opposite him, Jack's words circling his mind whilst he relayed every moment in which he might have said or done something better. _Anything at all_ would have been better. That was how it always went.

But it was easy for Jack to say he wanted to try, because everything really was easier for Jack.

He wasn't tied to anything and he had no place he needed to go. He was as free as he claimed to be, and though Cal would have liked to have been scornful about it from the moment he'd first laid eyes on him, he knew that in reality Jack was always going to be in the most enviable position.

Because at least he  _could_  try, and it might even have been possible for him to make something like this work.

 _Hah_. Whatever 'this' actually was.

Cal scowled at the newspaper. He couldn't seem to get past the first sentence anymore.

Slapping it down on the table, more paperwork fluttered and fanned out. They floated onto the kitchen floor, and Cal stared at so many pencil sketches. All very different and unknown people, staring back at him.

He knelt down to gather them up, and didn't intend to look at them properly. Besides the fact that they were Jack's business, he wasn't much interested.

But the sketches seemed to demand his attention. They were impressive in that they looked like they might be alive; every set of eyes promising a story, and Cal found himself wondering about all of them.

He'd known of course that Jack was a talent when it came to drawing, but he'd never really  _looked_  at them before.

"They're very nice aren't they, Mr. Hockley?"

Cal turned, and Mrs. Bardot was hovering over his shoulder.

"They're alright. If you like that sort of thing."

"You're a harsh critic," Bardot tutted at his untouched breakfast. "This has gone cold, Mr. Hockley."

"I wasn't hungry."

Cal was distracted by something else.

He pulled a single sketch slowly out from the rest.

A man in a suit, sitting at a table. He was clutching a glass of something, and though his fingers were drawn elegantly around it, they were too coiled and tense. His gaze was set dead ahead, like he might be oblivious or careless to the rest of his surroundings. He was stuck in another world and trapped behind his eyes.

Cal didn't realise he could look so despondent.

"Ah, he has your likeness down so well, Mr. Hockley," Mrs. Bardot was looking at it too. "He's made you a handsome man, too. Quite the task, with that awful frown."

"I'm sure."

Cal cleared his throat, and slotted the drawing quickly back in with the others.

"I'm going to be late," he paused at the door, in a moment of reflection. "Tell Jack...Tell  _Dawson_ , I mean. If you see him...tell him I look forward to seeing him this evening."

Mrs. Bardot nodded, and her smile was kinder.

"Of course, sir. Please try to have a good day, now."

The request did not seem quite so impossible, but Cal didn't know how one silly sketch could have changed things so drastically. Perhaps it was just the idea that Jack had bothered in the first place. It was oddly gratifying.

It should have been more frightening, but Cal could almost imagine saying  _yes,_  and then they'd have been going to New York and living there, after all.

Imagining his father's face, for just that instant, was just as gratifying.

_Consequence be damned._

88

 

 


	5. Fever

Cal had been avoiding the Bukater letter all week.

_'In regards to your request,_ _I can offer you a payment at the end of every month. However we may need to negotiate these terms more specifically...'_

He stared at the unending sentence until the words had become meaningless, like arcs and curves just sitting pretty on paper. He crossed them out and dropped the pen again, rubbing his head.

There was no graceful way to bend unwillingly to someone, to forget his pride and just accept defeat. Besides that, it was a much bitterer pill to swallow when he was so used to an easy win. His father's words rang true now; privilege had granted him a vast safety net, something to afford him the idea that he would never _truly_  fail at anything, so long as that was in place.

He was never supposed to lose.

"... _dammit_."

He glanced up at the clock. The time was ticking to almost midnight, and Jack had not returned yet, but Cal had been trying not to think too much about that.

Mrs Bardot had looked concerned when she'd told him, but she didn't pry any further into it. Cal would have told her to mind her own business, anyway.

If anything, he should have been relieved.

An  _easy out_. If Jack was gone, the biggest problem was solved.

Maybe Jack had seen sense too, and had realised they were destined for disaster, rather like their first meeting place on the Titanic itself. And surely Jack knew, despite his annoyingly optimistic nature, that there was nothing they could really  _try_  for? It was impossible. Cal only needed to remember his father's face to know that.

And yet he still wanted Jack to come back.

He was struck by a week of memories, and how  _automatic_  it had been. Letting Jack take over so much of his life, and so quickly.

The extra towels draped around the bathroom, the stray strands of blonde hair on pillow, the extra cups and plates and unplanned conversation at the breakfast table. And then the more meaningful words, the sort that Cal could never imagine himself saying anywhere else or to  _anyone_  else, in the middle of the night.

It had all happened so thoughtlessly, and Cal realised how much he'd miss it.

He rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes, trying to stave off the familiar throb of migraine. The letter disappeared from sight, and it was the smallest comfort, like vanquishing a worry.

_If only it were that simple._

"Are you okay?"

Cal turned his head, wondering if he was hearing things.

He wasn't; Jack was standing there in the door frame. His face was soft in the late evening light, and Cal immediately wanted to tell him how sorry he was.

Instead he straightened up in his chair, and smoothed out his creased shirt.

"I'm perfect, Dawson."

"Good to hear it."

Jack walked into the room. His hair was mussed, like he'd been caught out in a gale, and his pants were lined with creases. He still managed to look good though, and Cal found it endearing more than improper.

"What does she say?" Jack was looking at the letter.

Cal covered it up. He didn't want Jack to witness his humiliation in the form of writing as well as everything else. But Jack was persistent. And too smart, anyway.

"Please, Cal," he said.

Cal grimaced.

"It's more about what she  _wants_ , Dawson."

"...m _oney?_ " Jack was disbelieving. "Are you kidding me? She's got that huge  _rock_. It's worth an actual fortune, isn't it?"

Cal smiled faintly.

"You know it isn't about the expense," he picked up his glass tumbler, and watched the dregs of alcohol swish around within in. A dim attempt to appear careless. He was too aware that Jack was staring at him, though. "But it's not like I can't accommodate for money related requests, is it?"

" _Blackmail_ ," Jack corrected. "When will she stop this?"

"Whenever she thinks I've squirmed enough, I suppose."

Jack slouched against the wall, and his frown was severe.

"It isn't right, Cal."

Cal sneered, certain that he agreed, but he found he couldn't really blame Ruth either.

She'd been humiliated too, if only through her daughter's actions. Cal could understand her desire for revenge, to some extent.

He'd always got on with Ruth, on a basic and rather shrewd level. She could put aside impractical emotion for something more significant, and  _that_  was a sacrifice, in itself. Maybe he admired her for it still, in some ways.

Not very long ago he'd thought he could follow those brutal practicalities; the sort that life had taught him were basic and necessary for survival. But now he realised he was becoming stuck somewhere in the middle. Constantly teetering the line between the traditional and the unorthodox. Whichever one he picked would have to sacrifice something, and he wasn't used to sacrificing anything at all.

He looked at Jack and tried to smile again.

"Who knows, she might get bored. Or we can hope that Rose has distracted her with some more drama, as she is want to do," he laughed, more to himself. Strange that he actually wanted Rose to rebel at long last.

For his own selfish reasons, of course.

Jack looked thoughtful.

"You think Rose knows about this?"

"I wouldn't know," Cal downed the last of his drink. "I haven't heard from her. Shockingly."

"I don't think Rose would be involved. She wouldn't want this."

Cal rolled his eyes.

"You knew her barely a couple of days, Dawson. As in,  _barely at all_."

"The same amount of time I knew you," Jack looked at him imploringly. "Don't you think Rose is different to her mother, Cal?"

"I'm sure I have no idea. Rose was quite beyond my understanding, in many ways."

"You know what I mean."

Cal did know, but he didn't have the desire to pursue it anymore.

Whether Rose was oblivious or not to her mother's dealings, it was of no concern to him anymore. Perhaps he liked the idea that she would have frowned upon it, or that she wouldn't have enjoyed so much of his recent misfortune, but it hardly mattered in the end. It wasn't like he would ever hear from her again.

He sighed, and massaged his head again with a soft groan.

"Are you sure you're okay?" said Jack.

"Just a usual pain. It'll pass."

His dismissive wave of the hand was caught by Jack's though. His voice was as insistent as his grip;

"You should get some sleep, Cal. You look bad."

" _Charming_. I feel fine, as a matter of fact."

It was difficult to be too annoyed, especially when he was so pleased that Jack was actually there, and did not seem to hold grudges. It shouldn't have been surprising. though. Jack was obviously too kind for petty things like that.

"Mrs. Bardot said it too. She's worried about you."

Cal snorted. "Mrs. Bardot worries about the most appropriate time to feed birds in the morning. I wouldn't read much into it," he smiled wearily. "The letter won't write itself, Dawson. I'll go to bed soon."

Jack did not look pleased, but he let go of Cal's hand.

"Goodnight, then."

Even though his back was to Cal, and already at the door, Cal could not bring himself to look at him.

"Jack," he said to the letter instead.

"Yeah?"

"I'm...I am rather glad you came back, by the way."

A useless and failed attempt at an apology. He looked up, just in time to see Jack's smile.

"Well, I'm glad  _you're_  glad. Goodnight, Cal."

"Goodnight."

Cal found his gaze lingering there on the open doorway, long after Jack had left.

His head was still beating a persistent ache; even worse than a few minutes ago, and the Bukater letter was still glaring up at him, demanding his attention. But none of that mattered so much now.

Jack had made him careless again, and he wanted to keep the feeling forever, or for as long as he possibly could.

8

8

The ache in his head must've gotten worse, and he woke up disoriented, to the sound of Jack's voice and the nudge of a hand on his shoulder.

"... _Cal_. It's 3 in the morning. You need to actually go to bed now."

"Hm?" Cal lifted his head, but it was a mistake.

A tide of sickness encumbered him, and he realised what it was with a distant sense of mortification. He would either throw up or faint, and usually Bardot would be there, to fret and frown and scold him. Perhaps help him to bed and clean him up, if it was a particularly bad episode.

Jack was there now though, gripping his arm tight, and saying something inaudible, like ' _sit down_ '. But it was hard to know. His ears were buzzing too much.

Cal knew was going to pass out this time.

He tried to stand up anyway, and pushed Jack's grasping hands away.

"I'm  _alright_..." he said, as Jack's face dimmed.

"No, you're  _not_."

Cal understood, absently, that Jack was right. He was going to pass out, and he'd not even finished the Bukater letter yet.

He cursed, and then Jack's furrowed face disappeared with the rest of his vision.

8

8

8

"...dear me. Is he waking?"

"I think so. Cal?"

"Oh, but he  _does_  look a fright. Poor thing. Poor  _stupid_  thing."

"He's okay."

Cal opened his eyes.

The fuzzed faces of Jack and Mrs. Bardot gradually came back into focus, and they were both watching him, very closely.

They were lit up by soft orange light, and Cal realised he was in his bedroom and he was in bed. Jack was sitting closest, and his hands were clutched tight around Cal's, like he wouldn't let go.

Cal automatically pulled free.

"How're you feeling?" Jack said, not seeming to notice.

"...wonderful, Dawson."

"You look  _awful_ ," Bardot said bluntly. "But that's what you get for staying up all hours on things that can wait until tomorrow," she tutted, then paused. "Lucky that Mr. Dawson found you. I don't like to imagine what sort of ghastly state you'd have been in, otherwise."

Cal cleared his throat and it felt like sandpaper. He tried to move his head, though it still hurt magnificently.

"...what...what time is it?"

"Just gone noon," Jack said.

" _What?_ " Cal struggled, attempting to sit upright. "I have to get to work. I have to-"

"You don't have to do anything today," Jack said, and pressed a hand firmly to his chest, pushing him back down. "You're taking the day off sick. Mrs. Bardot has already informed your father."

Bardot nodded, looking very pleased with herself.

Cal put a betrayed glare on her.

"I had to do it," she said quickly. "Mr. Dawson was very insistent."

Cal groaned, and pressed his head into his hands in short despair. "Was he, now?"

It was unfortunate. If Jack had not found him, Cal would have made his excuses and gone to work that morning as usual, sick or not. But Jack was too concerned, as always.

"You've overworked yourself, which is no surprise  _at_  all," Bardot pressed a hand to his forehead. _"_ The doctor recommends you take a week off work, at the  _least_. Make a little vacation of it, perhaps."

Cal batted her hand away, and stared at them both. "You called for a _doctor_  as well? Of all the _ridiculous_  things..."

"Again, at Mr. Dawson's _very_  insistent demands."

"Dawson's demands are too insistent, then."

"I had to," Jack frowned at him. "I...I was worried about you."

"Well you needn't," Cal looked to the side, pretending anything else was more interesting. "Migraines are normal occurrences. And I'm fine now."

"You still look dreadful to me," Bardot said, and shook her head in some exasperation at Jack. "You see, he won't listen, my dear. Too bull-headed, by far. Last time I was quite certain he'd end up six feet under before he'd ever call for a doctor."

"'Last time'? This happens a lot?" Jack looked at Cal with intent.

"Mrs. Bardot likes to exaggerate," Cal gave her a dark look. "And is also speaking out of line, presently."

Bardot looks unruffled by the remark.

"If that is the case then I  _do_  apologise, Mr. Hockley. It is only my concern that makes me speak so bold," she gathered up a tray and a half-empty glass of water that Cal couldn't remember drinking from, and then she looked at him like a mother might disapprove of a child. "I'll make a nice supper for you, if you can stomach it. Might put some colour back in your face. Stay where you are in the meantime."

Cal scowled at her. "Do I have any choice?"

"None at all, if you know what's good for you."

She shared a strange smile with Jack, before she left the room.

The door had barely clipped shut, and Cal looked at Jack suspiciously.

"Did you two conspire to do this together?"

Jack laughed at him.

"I didn't, you're just incredibly paranoid," he budged much closer, and his hands found Cal's and gathered them together again. This time Cal did not resist it. "I don't want you to get ill because of me."

Cal shook his head, which didn't help the ache there.

"It isn't you. It's everything else."

"It's because of me you're having all these problems. Stuff with your father...and Ruth..."

"All incidental, Dawson. My father will always be a problem. As for Ruth, she would still have been sending those letters, whether you were here or not."

"But I'm not  _helping_  anything," Jack looked resigned. "I'm just making it more stressful for you."

" _Please_ ," Cal pulled an irritated face. "Don't talk so ridiculous."

"I only worry."

"You shouldn't."

There was heavy pause between them, and Cal felt himself swallowing, with some difficulty.

He did feel quite ill, but he also knew the worst of it had passed already. Migraines were manageable at this point, and Jack's presence was an obvious distraction, anyway. His hands still curved around Cal's, and they quivered occasionally, like they were on edge.

Jack was too compassionate, and it made Cal's chest hurt. It was like guilt, or the alarming realisation that someone might care about him who had no real reason to. Or at least Cal could not figure out the reason yet.

"I just thought you'd gone and done something stupid," Jack said suddenly, into the silence. "You know..."

It didn't need elaboration, and Cal blinked up at Jack, processing the words with what he hoped was a sneer. In the back of his mind, he was just shocked that Jack might be able to read him so well.

"Hah. I'd at least have left a  _note_ , Dawson."

Jack didn't return his smile. It was feeble at best, anyway.

"Do you feel much better?"

"I told you. I'm fine."

It should have been more irritating than it was. Jack wasn't even supposed to _be_  there. He was supposed to have left the house in a storm of anger yesterday morning, and he was supposed to have realised that Cal was irrational and did not deserve second chances.

He was never supposed to come back, and look at Cal as if he might forgive him.

How _stupid_.

Cal gritted his teeth, and concentrated his gaze on Jack's fingers, which were still coiling and so warm around his own.

"...where did you go to, anyway?"

"What?"

"Yesterday. I just wondered where you went after we...argued."

"Oh. I went for a walk. Fresh air helps, you know."

"Oh," Cal stared at the blanket, and began picking at loose and unravelled thread. "Were you...I mean, are you considering leaving?"

"Do you want me to?" Jack said, very directly.

It was the obvious and most pertinent question, and it was an obvious answer really.

Perhaps Cal could admit it plainly to himself, but not quite to Jack yet. Some weak attempt to rescue whatever passed for his pride these days.

"If you weren't here," he paused, in an effort to look like he was considering it. Looking at Jack made it easy, though. "...I would likely be much more miserable."

He attempted another smile, but Jack was already returning it.

"Well. I _have_  to stay now, don't I?"

Then he leaned down, pressing a kiss to Cal's mouth.

It was gentle, and Cal closed his eyes and sighed into it. It was the sort of relief he didn't know he needed, and tension was bleeding out of him. It felt  _good._

"...hm, I could get used to this..."

"I bet you could," Jack said, and his mouth pressed much more deeply.

For a little while the ache diminished in his head, and only became more prominent about the rest of his body, but in the most pleasant way. The pound in his chest was heated, and Jack's smothering mouth was becoming even more so.

"...where do you want to go, again...?" Cal murmured, around another kiss. And then a moan.

Jack kissed him harder. "What do you mean?"

"...I mean...where do you want to live?"

"...an apartment, nothing special," fingers burned, an exact and determined trail, beneath Cal's shirt. "...somewhere in New York, maybe..."

Cal's smile quivered, and he found a hazy focus on the ceiling.

"... _hah_ , I can imagine that..."

He scrunched his hands tight into the bed sheets, and Jack's weight shifted above him.

His mouth was messy and rough with desire, and then close to Cal's ear, with new intent and urgent words;

"Would you go with me?"

".. _.of course..._ " Cal closed his eyes, and fire could have been touching his skin. He tried to breathe properly, but it was more like a shudder, and it was as if Jack had found every part of him.

"... _I'll go anywhere you like_..."

It was so easy to say it, because whenever Jack got too close, everything actually seemed possible. Perhaps that was what made him so alluring.

_An escape._

"...you're burning up," Jack sounded like he was smiling. "Must be coming down with a pretty serious fever..."

Cal's laugh was shaken, and he reached his arms around Jack's back, for once without any uncertainty. His senses were off-kilter, and he could have believed he was someone else,  _anywhere else_ , in these moments of feverish madness. For a while, Jack Dawson was the only thing that existed.

Unfortunately, because of that, he didn't hear the door open.

" _Oh my goodness_...should I excuse myself?"

Cal snapped back to the present, or more the version he didn't want to return to.

He pushed Jack away with another broken gasp, and they both turned their heads to see Mrs. Bardot standing in the doorway, holding a tray of vitamin condiments.

She didn't look so much surprised, as she did annoyed.

88

88

88

"Well, what did you think, Mr. Hockley? That I was just a silly woman with her head in the clouds,  _completely_  oblivious?"

"I had hoped," Cal admitted, and tried to better concentrate on his food.

It was the next day, and though his migraine had passed, his mortification had unfortunately insisted on sticking around a bit longer.

He'd taken his prescribed 'vacation', along with some other medicine bottles that Bardot had forced him to drink, although he was beginning to think it would have been a better option to go back to work rather than endure such embarrassment for the rest of his lifetime.

"Mr. Hockley. I knew your opinion of me was dire, but this takes the cake," Bardot shook her head, and then looked at the oven in brief panic. " _Oh_ , I almost forgot the cake."

Jack smirked across the table, and covered his mouth too late.

"I didn't know it was so obvious, that's all," Cal muttered.

He glared at Bardot's back, but she was still hunched over the oven, far more interested in the damn cake.

"I would like to say you were discreet about it," she said. "But that would be a most terrible lie. And I'm certainly not one for that."

Cal could feel the flush creeping up his cheeks. He gritted his teeth.

"I mean," Bardot continued obliviously. "Seeing you  _civil_  in the mornings, and even _before_  coffee...it was rather unnerving at first, I have to confess. Even  _shocking_. It did give the game away quite a bit."

Jack's smirk turned into a snort, and Cal tried to ignore it. He continued to glare, pointlessly, at Bardot's back.

"You won't say anything though, will you? You know my father..."

Bardot pulled a plate from the oven. She wafted the smoke away, and coughed through the burning fumes at Cal with an insulted face.

" _Mr. Hockley_. I am your housekeeper, and thus sworn to total confidentiality," she placed the cake in the centre of the table with a satisfied sound. Then she looked at Cal again, with a softer face. "And besides all of that, as hard as it may be for you to believe, I do rather enjoy seeing you happy, you know."

Cal blinked, in a moment of surprise. "I..."

"Oh don't look at me like that," Bardot sliced the cake in an expert motion, and then pushed a plate in front of both Cal and Jack. "And if having Mr. Dawson around makes you rather more bearable to _me_ , then that must only be a good thing, I'm sure. Now eat up."

"I was unaware I was usually so  _un_ bearable, Mrs. Bardot."

Bardot laughed at him, as if it he'd told an actual joke.

"I'm just pleased you're feeling better," she looked between the both of them then, with a sterner face. "The only thing I ask is that you try and keep yourselves decent around myself. Or give me fair warning, at least."

Cal glared at his cake, and stabbed a petulant fork into it.

"You might practise your knocking before entering too, Mrs. Bardot. To give  _yourself_  fair warning."

She just laughed again, as if he'd told another terrible joke. "Oh yes, I suppose that does make sense."

When Bardot had left the room, Jack's grin turned into laughter too.

It was unfair, because Cal wanted to remain in a state of simmering rage, but it was near impossible when Jack was just sitting there eating cake and laughing, and making everything seem much less serious.

Cal could only retain a frown in his direction, at best.

"I'm glad you find this so amusing, Dawson."

"She won't say anything, you know she won't. We can trust her."

"I don't know that. Neither do you."

"I know...but it's done now. We can't do anything about it."

"So easy for you to say, as usual," Cal pushed his cake away. "You can have it."

"Thanks," Jack smiled strangely, then he stood up, and sloped around the table.

He pressed a kiss to Cal's head before he could protest.

"Anyway," Jack spoke more softly. "What's wrong with it, if you're happy?"

"Nothing at all," Cal said, and it felt like a confession.

And then a massive weight, if not quite leaving his shoulders, shifting away from them a bit.

" _Exactly_ ," Jack said. "See. Mrs. Bardot knows best."

"Mrs. Bardot is terrible."

Jack shook his head, and kissed him on the mouth. "You look better, already. Maybe I should kiss you more often."

Cal smiled weakly.

"Hm. I like that prescription."

"Careful. People might start to think you actually enjoy my company or something."

"I don't care about that," Cal said. Another short realisation.

He tilted his head up, and let Jack kiss him again. He smiled through it, and wanted Jack to do so much more.

"I wish you would always do that," Jack said, as their mouths briefly came apart.

"...what's that?"

"Not care what anyone thinks."

88

88

The invite arrived a couple of days later.

Cal knew it was important, by the silver engraved lettering and the richly textured paper. He still got apprehensive opening those sorts of letters, even now.

"It's a formal dinner party," he told Jack. "You don't have to come."

"I'd like to," Jack said at once, not looking up from his sketchpad. "It could be fun."

He was stooped over the kitchen table, drawing something that had apparently taken up all of the evening's attention.

"It won't be fun," Cal assured him.

" _Come on_. I pulled it off twice before. And third times the charm, right?"

Cal supposed he had a good point. And better than that, he'd even survived meeting  _Hockley senior_. Surely the worst of it might be over now.

He looked Jack up and down, and was kind of pleased that Jack actually _wanted_  to attend in the first place.

He smiled a bit. It'd be nice having Jack around, and a 'plus one' could easily be passed off as an old friend without any suspicion. Cal knew he had enough clout to sell it as that, especially when his father wasn't around to ruin things.

He also knew, more importantly, that Jack could hold his own.

"Very well, then. We'll get you measured up for a suit tomorrow."

"...what?" Jack looked up from his drawing in some alarm.

"Well, you can't be stealing my clothes  _all_  the time, can you? You need to shop around for some of your own if you want a better taste of high society," Cal smirked. "That could be fun too, actually."

Jack looked put out.

"It'll be an experience, I guess."

"You did say you wanted to come along," Cal sat down at the table, pretending to be nonchalant about it. "What are you drawing, anyway? Another needless masterpiece?"

"Nah. Only you."

Cal snorted, and didn't believe him.

Later, when Jack had disappeared upstairs, he looked at the drawing.

It actually was a drawing of himself, and he took Jack's jest to heart; he wasn't quite a masterpiece (he still looked kind of sick), but he  _was_  smiling.

It made a nice change, like so many other things recently.

 

 


	6. Play Nicely

"I think this sort of thing looks better on you."

"Everything looks better on me," Cal dismissed. "You look fine, Dawson."

He leaned against the door frame and tried not to look so amused as Jack did an awkward turn and frowned at his reflection in the mirror.

Jack  _did_ look fine; even more than that. But he also looked very uncomfortable, and Cal thought he might prefer Jack in his normal clothes, anyway.

He had not told his father about the doctor's visit, but he had told him he was going to take the rest of the week off to concentrate on some 'unattended paperwork'.

Unattended paperwork mostly turned out to be Jack's undivided attention, and for a while Cal did not feel guilty about it. For a while he enjoyed the idea that his father would be raging if he could see him now; lost to his usual senses and completely devoted to another person. Another  _man._ It was probably spiteful, but Cal couldn't pretend that he wasn't that type of person. Besides that, he found that he couldn't really help himself.

_Oh, but he must have fallen really hard._

"It does tend to help to hold oneself with more purpose," said the dresser, and he tilted Jack's chin up, in a demonstration. "That's it, now shoulders back. You see. It fits quite beautifully."

"I guess so," Jack didn't look or sound very convinced.

The dresser rang up the total for three suits, four pairs of shoes and a couple of coats. Jack stood there with his eyes getting wider, and an audible gasp leaving him, as Cal casually passed a few wads of money across the counter.

As they left the shop, Jack gripped Cal's shoulders, bodily turning him round to face him.

"I didn't mean for you to spend so much on me. How am I ever gonna pay that back?"

Cal smiled, and carefully pried Jack's hands off him.

"This is not a debt, Dawson. This is my treat."

"This is...too much."

"I'm happy to do it," Cal considered. "Besides, it's all standard attire for this sort of party."

"I think I'm beginning to regret this 'sort of party' altogether."

"Oh stop your complaining. You survived my  _father,_ for God's sake _._  And the Titanic. In a few ways, thinking about it."

"Hah. Point taken, I guess."

They walked along the side-walk, where the hustle of early afternoon crowds were taking rushed lunches and cigarette breaks. Time was money in these parts, and the street was a familiar and upmarket area, a place that Cal would usually have his valet do shop related runs for him whenever there was a spare moment. It was often too busy and crowded, but Cal had always sort of enjoyed it. A place to get lost in, and today he was getting lost with Jack.

He hadn't really planned to accompany Jack to the fitting, but he had noticed the terror in Jack's eyes when he'd mentioned it that morning. Cal thought perhaps he could meet him in the middle. Try to remind him that it wasn't so terrible.

He just kept forgetting that Jack wasn't very used to this sort of thing, though.

"What sort of party requires you to dress for the  _décor_ , anyway?" Jack wondered. "You guys have some weird ideas about fun, you know that?"

"We just know how to dress, Dawson. A small detail that seems to be entirely lost on yourself, by the way."

"Hm. But I still managed to attract _you_ , somehow."

"Another point that's entirely lost on me, as it happens."

Jack smirked. "Well. I personally think clothes are overrated," he looked Cal up and down, with an unabashed gleam in his eye. "None at all is much better, in some cases."

"Very smooth, Dawson," Cal said, and hoped his embarrassment wasn't showing. "Why don't you come up with a good story for this dinner party and take your head out of the gutter for once?"

"Hm. How about I got a ton of money given to me through some crazy inheritance? Usually works, right?"

"Since when is this very 'usual'?" Cal returned Jack's smirk. "You're just getting cocky now."

Jack combed a hand through his hair, and his grin was boyish and seemingly designed to provoke Cal into wanting to forgive him (and so much more), whatever his intentions might have been.

"Am I being cocky?" Jack asked. "I don't mean to be."

Cal tried to suppress his smile. "Well, here is a tip I can offer you; ask them _all_  the questions. They love to talk about themselves, and if they talk, you don't have to."

"Hah. Is that how you get by?"

"'Get by'? I  _sail_  by, Dawson."

"Now who's being cocky?"

"It's easy when you've had it all drilled into you since day one."

"Hm," Jack's smile slipped a bit. "I just feel like I'm rehearsing for a trial by fire."

They reached a large and pretty park, where the sun was gleaming on a clear and stilled lake. Jack ran ahead at once; stretching his arms out, as if freed from imprisonment in the form of itchy suits and pinching shoes.

He looked so much happier like that.

Cal hurried to catch up to him, and they sat on a bench together, nearest to the lake. Jack smiled and waved at passing strangers, not fazed by their varying and obvious degrees of judgement.

Cal kept his gaze set ahead.

"You don't have to come, you know. I don't expect you to."

Jack looked at him, shading his eyes against the sun.

"No, I want to. I want to be involved in stuff that you do. I mean, if you want me to."

Cal frowned.

"I just don't think it would be of interest to you."

"It isn't," Jack admitted, bluntly. "But if you're there it's better, you know?"

Cal wasn't sure he did know at all.

He looked at Jack carefully, trying to find the deception in such a straightforward answer. Of course it wasn't there; Jack was apparently uncomplicated like that. He just smiled, face lit up by golden afternoon sunlight, as if nothing could ever shake his bright resolve.

Then he reached out, subtly, and caught the sleeve of Cal's coat.

"I want to come to this stupid dinner thing, Cal. That is...if it makes you happy."

Cal wanted to pull his arm back, painfully aware that they were in a public place, and that people were walking all around them, maybe oblivious and not noticing anything at all. But the chance was always there.

"I suppose you must come, then."

He looked at the ground, and felt too stifled by himself, as usual. Unable to say something more significant, that came so easily within his mind.

"It's settled then," Jack didn't seem to mind or notice. "I guess I just have to wear that million dollar suit and try to be happy about it."

"Oh, woe is you," Cal cleared his throat. "However will you cope with all these sudden luxuries?"

"I really don't know. I still feel like I'm kind of dreaming."

Jack sounded so earnest about it, but Cal scoffed anyway.

"Dreaming about all the money you can take off me?"

Jack laughed at him.

"However did you figure it out?"

"I wouldn't blame you, Dawson. Not a bit."

"Wow, you think so highly of me," Jack didn't look insulted, more amused. "Next you'll be saying I belong in the gutter, along with my mouth."

"I believe I've already said that."

Jack nudged him again, in the side. "Anyway, money doesn't look half so good in a suit. Doesn't let me hold it's hand either."

"You're such a fool, Dawson."

Cal kind of meant it, but he couldn't help watching Jack's hand, still curled around his coat sleeve, and then touching skin. He didn't want it to leave, not at all.

"It's a nice place, isn't it?" Jack was looking around the park, with an amiable face. "Not New York, but still pretty nice."

Cal looked at him.

"You really do want to live in New York, don't you?"

Jack nodded. "Mm-hm. I'd _love_  to live there. I mean...it seems like  _anything_ is possible in a city like that."

"You're a romantic fool, too."

"Have you ever been?"

"Just for work," Cal considered it, briefly.

He couldn't remember very much of New York itself. He just wasn't the sort to take in his surroundings like that. Usually he was so focused on whatever he was there for, tunnel-vision for a single but important goal. And when it came to New York city it'd always been about chasing that extra dollar. It was probably a shame.

He blinked at Jack. "What would you do there, anyway?"

Jack's grin broadened.

"Anything. Just see where the city takes us, I guess."

"'Us'? I didn't know I was there."

"Pft.  _Of course_  you are. And I'm dragging you to a bunch of art galleries, and you're hating pretty much everything you look at. Then you're making me buy an extortionately priced suit and I don't have any idea what I'll be wearing it for."

"Hah. You can never have enough good quality suits, Dawson."

"I'm starting to figure that," Jack's smile softened. "Then, whenever we get bored, we just head out to somewhere else. Another city, perhaps. Maybe even a little town, something like that."

Cal wanted to be scornful about it, but he was too busy imagining it for himself. He heard himself laugh.

"You really are committed to this rootless lifestyle, aren't you?"

Jack shrugged.

"Well. It's all I've ever known. There wasn't much choice."

Cal looked away, feeling uncommonly guilty.

He had gathered a few titbits about Jack here and there, between intimate moments and then those unexpected ones, and he always feigned that he had little interest. It was a sort of self-preservation tactic. If he didn't learn too much about Jack, he'd never get too attached to him, in  _theory_.

Of course theory meant nothing at all when put into practise, and Cal had ended up wondering and asking and listening to whatever Jack told him about his vagabond lifestyle. All with nothing but avid and hungry interest whenever the subject cropped up. He was actually _fascinated_  by it, though he'd never admit that to Jack, obviously.

He already knew that Jack's parents had died when he was too young, and though it was uncomfortably sentimental for Cal's tastes, he still noticed Jack's eyes becoming misted when he spoke of them, like he was recalling a memory that he was painfully fond of.

Cal wondered, with a strange and unfounded envy, what that must feel like.

"Do you miss having a family, Dawson?"

"Sometimes," Jack said. "They were good people."

"They must have been," Cal felt suddenly cold with his own thoughts. He scowled at the lake. "I keep wondering, what will happen when my own father dies? It will be a nightmare of paperwork, for one thing."

Jack snorted. "Paperwork? Are you being serious?"

"Of course. Just imagining the takeover is enough to make me crazy. He keeps adding little details to it, and I'm supposed to remember it all. As if I have the automatic capacity to manage a damned family business..."

Cal stopped talking when he realised Jack was watching him in some disbelief.

"...what?"

"Nothing," Jack shook his head, still sort of smiling. Then his hand properly covered Cal's. "Do you actually  _want_  to do all that?"

"Well. Yes," Cal frowned. "There's nobody else, anyway."

"What if there  _was_  somebody else? Would you want to do it then?"

"I don't know...I suppose I never much thought much about it before."

Jack laughed at him.

"You are _ridiculous,_  Cal."

Cal was confused more than insulted. "How am I?"

"Your whole life, you've never even thought to  _question_  it? Wondered if there was something else you might want to do, maybe?"

"I'd be foolish to want to do anything else," Cal tried to glare. "I have so much more opportunity here. Why would I ever throw all that away?"

"I have no idea," Jack shrugged, as if Cal was insane. It was annoying.

" _Anyway._ I don't need to think about it usually. I'm only thinking about it now because of...because of  _this_ ," Cal gestured, uselessly, between them.

Jack's laugh was soft. "What is 'this', then?"

" _You_ , I suppose. And me...losing my mind, just a bit."

Cal swallowed back a sudden pang of nerves, because if he thought about it too deeply it would always become too daunting, and he'd be considering the easiest option again.

"My point is, I can't just do things like that."

"Why?" Jack looked unmoved by the reasoning.

" _Because._  There's too many other things to do. I  _can't_..." the words dissolved, rather too quickly, in Cal's mouth.

He wasn't tempting another argument. Far from it. All he could really think of was his father's face, and how damning it suddenly was.

The feeling gripped his chest, and he prised Jack's hand out of his own.

"I already told you, anyway. It isn't so easy."

"Do you think your father still suspects?" Jack said, flatly.

His face was suddenly serious, having brought up the anxiety that was always simmering between them. It would never leave, Cal knew that.

Even if it took a temporary vacation, and he could pretend that everything would work out for a little while, it would always come back in the end, in some insidious form.

Cal shook his head.

"I don't know. Bardot figured it out. It's perfectly possible, I suppose."

There was pause between them, and Cal knew that Jack must have been remembering the actual precariousness of their situation too. Maybe he really was having his own doubts, after all. It was more than a wonder that the evening dinner hadn't already scared him off.

Jack was persistent, and endlessly fearless, though.

"Surely he would have said something to you by now, Cal."

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Cal pulled a cigarette out his pocket and lit up. "Unfortunately I think waiting until he's six feet under is the best and only solution to this problem."

Jack looked at him in some alarm. "I hope you're not planning to speed that up in any way."

"The idea is tempting, believe me."

"He's still your father. Surely he can see past everything else? You're his _only son,_  Cal."

Cal wanted to laugh. He kept forgetting that Jack had only ever seen a snapshot of his father, but that couldn't be helped.

"Exactly why I have to stay here, and play nicely for him, Dawson."

Jack blew out a soft sight, like frustration.

" _Damn_ ," he said. "What a pain."

Cal smiled at him, and it was embittered. "It is a bit, isn't it?"

He passed the cigarette to Jack, who took a long and pensive drag. Cal stared through him, trying to remember a time when he'd felt this way before.

Of course there were moments when he thought he'd found someone who might fill a gap there, and life might have panned out 'normally'. Like his set up with Rose Bukater, for instance. It had seemed like jigsaw pieces perfectly fitting together on the surface, and Cal's father had been pleased with the match, if dubious in some part toward the end.

Hockley senior had noticed Rose's nature, and how insubordinate she was as the weeks had passed by. Perhaps he'd even warned Cal, and Cal had listened with only one ear, and hadn't taken it very seriously at all. Truthfully-he knew it now-he just hadn't _cared_  as much as he should have done.

Rose hadn't been that important, just a means to an end. Her dislike for him had been a terrible blow to Cal's pride, but nothing more than that.

He couldn't imagine Jack as a means to an end.

In all honestly, he could see no end _at all_  when it came to Jack.

That was what made it so perplexing.

"I wish I didn't like you so much," Cal realised, aloud. He snatched the cigarette back. "That would be the best solution to this entire mess."

Jack was staring at him. "Is that what you want?"

"It's what I'm supposed to want," Cal scowled. "And I wish I did."

Jack looked across the lake, and nodded. "Right."

Then he stood up, very abruptly.

Cal internally panicked, wondering if he'd actually pushed Jack's patience to it's end, at long last.

He watched, in nervous confusion, as Jack walked down the bank toward the lake's edge.

There, he picked up a stone and skimmed it across the waters, and made a victorious 'whoop' sound that echoed all around the park. It caught everyone's unwanted attention, but Jack carried on, regardless.

Cal was caught up between wanted to smile and that ever-present undercurrent of unease. There was a strange desire to join Jack.

He made his mind up and stood up.

"You're rather good, aren't you?"

Jack looked over his shoulder, and his grin was surprised.

"Well, I've had  _a lot_  of practise."

"I can tell," Cal hesitated, keeping his gaze on the lake. "Listen, Jack. I didn't mean-"

"Here, let me show you," Jack stepped back, so that they were side by side.

"No, thank you," but Cal let Jack take his hand anyway, and watched as he pressed a stone into his palm.

"It's pretty easy," Jack said with assurance, and lifted his arm up. "Just angle it like that, and then you throw it."

Cal considered it, for just a few seconds.

The clutched stone and the stretch of the lake seemed to go hand in hand, and Jack's  _actual_ hand was still there, fingers curling round his own, and so carefully directing him. What a cliche it was, too. Something overdone and sickeningly romantic about it.

Cal should have been rolling his eyes. Instead his throat felt dry, and he wanted to throw the stone.

It should have been simple like that.

"We should go back, Dawson. Bardot will be suspecting we got lost or something."

He dropped the stone on the ground between them.

Jack's shoulders seemed to sink. It was only for a moment, but Cal noticed it all the same.

"Alright, then. Let's go."

88

88

88

"The Dubelle's come from old money...as I recall. You probably won't even meet them."

"Wait... _'as you recall_ '? Do you even  _know_  them, Cal?"

Cal smoothed a hand through his hair, and straightened his jacket.

"Hm. I might have encountered them a couple of times. I can't remember their faces, though."

Jack rolled his eyes in his general direction, but placed a hand on Cal's shoulder.

"Why are we even going? If you don't know them?"

Cal baulked. "My father knows them, I'm sure."

"Well, that is the most  _glowing_  endorsement I've ever heard," Jack looked despairing. "He won't be there, will he? Please tell me he won't be."

"I'm positive he won't be. Or else the invite would have been addressed to both of us."

Cal didn't know that for sure, but he was fairly certain that Hockley senior had little patience for these sorts of dinner parties anymore. It had been passed on to Cal to do the 'social networking', as it were, and Cal had begun to enjoy it for a while.

It was easier when his father wasn't around, too. He didn't have to second guess every word he said, and remember his father's reactions. When Hockley senior wasn't there Cal was free to do as he wished, and he often thrived like that. It wasn't always plain sailing, but he'd gotten some successes, and his father seemed to have recognised that. Of course he always put it down to Cal's appearance; 'a handsome face can go a long way', and perhaps it'd helped more than anything else, though Cal himself wasn't so vain about his looks.

He'd noticed the way women looked at him, and men too, for that matter. But he didn't see the harm in it if it helped his social standing, or made somebody important remember him. He'd use anything to his advantage when it came to that.

"I guess you're right," Jack said. "So long as your father isn't there, how bad can it be?"

Cal felt himself grinning. "Exactly right, Dawson. Think positively."

"This is an odd role reversal," Jack touched Cal's jawline, with some delicacy. "How strange."

"What is?"

"I just don't think I've ever seen you smile like that."

"Hm. I feel like I should be offended," Cal let Jack tilt his head, anyway.

"No, not at all. I'm just happy to see you happy."

The push on Cal's chest was only slight, but enough of a prompt to make him sit down on the couch.

In the back of his mind he'd chastise himself for letting Jack unravel the tie he'd gotten so neat, and was already creasing his immaculate suit, and then there was the fact that they had barely fifteen minutes left before they were supposed to be heading to the Dubelle's...

"...we'll be late," he said with some difficulty, around Jack's mouth.

"...oh well," Jack sounded more interested in other things, like the taut rise of Cal's chest, or the shape of his arching back. Cal couldn't help that.

Being a little late wasn't such a black mark on etiquette these days, anyway.

" _Please._  I thought you two were supposed to be giving me fair warning."

Jack laughed around the kiss, and Cal pulled back, horrified to see Mrs. Bardot standing there, holding up two jackets in front of them.

"Now," she said. "I had the longer one pressed, as you requested, Mr. Hockley. But I do believe that the shorter will suit Mr. Dawson far better. What do you think?"

" _I think_  you were supposed to knock," Cal said, and tried to compose himself. He waved a dismissive hand. "The shorter one, then. Go with that."

"I  _did_  knock, Mr. Hockley. I also asked if I could come in," Bardot shook her head. "Very well. The shorter one it is, then. Are you going to try it on, Mr. Dawson? Or are you going to violate Mr. Hockley a little longer first?"

Jack stood up, clearing his throat around a sheepish smile. He didn't seem so embarrassed as he did apologetic, and he took the jacket from Mrs. Bardot with a gracious nod.

"Thank you. It looks perfect."

"I should think it does," Cal muttered, buttoning his shirt back up. "I  _chose_ it, after all."

"Your taste is rather impeccable," Bardot said. Then she looked at Jack, as he assessed himself with the jacket on. "Yes,  _very_  impeccable."

Cal internally enjoyed the compliment, and also the way Jack looked.

Jack would probably gather himself a few admirers tonight, and Cal realised he'd have to train himself not to look on in any sort of obvious envy. The thought hadn't really crossed his mind until that moment, but he suddenly realised that they wouldn't be able to stand very close, or talk so close, or anything like that...

"Are you sure you're quite well for this, Mr. Hockley?" Mrs. Bardot was looking at him. "I don't like to think you'd get sick at the Dubelle's."

"I'm well," Cal told her. "Very well, actually."

Bardot smiled at him, and then did the usual job of fixing up his tie.

"Yes, you  _do_  look it," then she gave a wistful sigh. "Well, you two have a good time, won't you? And have a dance for me, too."

"Dancing?" Jack said. "We'll be dancing?"

"Not with each other," Cal said. "...I mean,  _obviously_."

"Oh, but I should say Mr. Dawson might get a few requests," Bardot winked at him. "Better keep on eye on him, Mr. Hockley."

Cal turned away with a huffed sound.

"Dawson can do as he pleases, and dance with whomever he likes, so far as I'm concerned."

"How considerate," Bardot said, knowing amusement lining her voice.

Cal scowled at her, and tried to ignore the way Jack smirked at him.

`"Come on. We're going to be late."

He noticed then, the unfinished Bukater letter still lying on the dresser.

It could surely wait for another night.

88

88

They arrived at the Dubelle's to the sounds of orchestra and rich conversation, floating through high arched and yellow glowing windows.

Jack whistled at the sight of it. "It's  _huge_. An  _actual mansion_."

"A manor house," Cal corrected. "The Dubelle's manor house, to be exact."

He checked his watch. They were late, but not too late.

Cal was expert at planning his entrances at this point, and he knew how to make a good one. It was like flicking on a switch; the automatic flash of a million dollar smile, and the nods and appropriate waves at anyone who looked vaguely familiar, or might have been an important connection opportunity.

Cal could turn it on and do it all; he was in his element, and Jack was there, and Hockley Senior was not. He should have been happy about it.

He was, for just a moment.

As they walked into the reception, the eyes that swept upon them initially were not intimidating. Cal recognised some of them, but only by face. Or else people he didn't really know, and didn't really matter either.

Then, as if appearing out of air, he saw Ruth Dewitt Bukater.

She was standing by herself, and she waved at him. Her smile arced up, very slowly.

 

 


	7. Snake Pit

"I don't believe we've met before, Mr. Dawson."

"I'm pretty sure we haven't, miss."

She was a young and attractive brunette woman, sat at Jack's right side. She smiled coyly, and spoke with a hungry interest that met her eyes.

Cal wasn't so concerned; he was still too distracted by Ruth Bukater.

The Heart of the Ocean hung around her neck; every angle of it glinting like an imagined slap in the face. But Cal knew better than to mention it, never mind look at it for very long.

He took another large shot of wine instead. An unwise lifeline perhaps, but he wasn't sure how else he would get through the evening.

He'd tried to be strategic about it. The ballroom was immense, no surprise when it came to the Dubelle's vast fortune, and there were several large dinner tables set about the outskirts of the main dance floor. Usually Cal would enjoy dining with the hosts, but he'd looked about rather frantically this evening, in a hope that he and Jack could sit as far away from Ruth as possible.

She'd caught Cal's shoulder though, and had asked him to lead the way.

Years of indoctrinated protocol made it impossible to refuse the offer, and so they had all ended up seated together; Cal, Jack and Ruth, in a triangular hell amidst idle chatter about things Cal couldn't really care less about.

"The food is very agreeable, I must say. Have you tried the dessert yet, Mr. Hockley?"

Ruth hadn't stopped smiling yet. Unlike the food, it wasn't an agreeable smile, though.

It was dangerous, like a cat that was having too much fun with it's prey, before it might decide to show it's teeth and devour it at any moment.

Cal wasn't being paranoid, he knew how she worked. He was of the same ilk, and she'd be cut-throat as himself if she had to be.

He was on edge, waiting for that precise moment to happen, and it was a sort of agony.

"I haven't tried the dessert," he smiled anyway. "I'll have to take it up on your recommendation, Mrs. Bukater."

"Oh, you simply  _must_. It is divine. And I'm sure Mr. Dawson would find it even more so."

Jack gave a polite nod in her direction, but didn't say anything.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Cal appreciated it. He just wished he wasn't subjecting Jack to such familiar humiliation. He gripped his wine glass tighter. He couldn't allow himself to get very inebriated, but enough to soften the edges was probably harmless. Just to make everything more tolerable.

"Cal, it's been a long time. Where are you hiding yourself these days?"

It was Mr. Dubelle himself who spoke, as if they were old friends. Cal only knew him as an associate of his fathers, as most of the other guests seemed to be, but he was pleasant enough.

He sat directly opposite Cal, occasionally picking out his guests, to pick them apart. Cal was well versed in the experience, it was part the course at these sorts of functions, he just hadn't intended to sit at the same table as the host this evening.

But then nothing was going as intended this evening.

He smiled weakly.

"My father keeps me occupied with things at the moment. You know how it is."

"Ah, yes. I hear there have been a few bumps in the road of late, regarding business?"

A woman nudged Mr. Dubelle in the side, as if he'd spoken out of turn.

Cal ignored the murmured sounds around the table, like they were rousing for some gossip.

"It could be going better, I suppose. But then couldn't everything?"

He cast around, looking for a face that might agree, and was relieved to hear the general chuckles of agreement.

"Hah. A fair point, Cal," Dubelle said. "And I'm sure you'll fair any mishaps well enough. You do have your father's practicality, if nothing else."

It was a well disguised dig. Cal stared at his wine glass.

"Do I?"

He hadn't planned to say it aloud, especially for how listless it sounded.

The idea that anyone might compare him to his father, and favourably at that, made him feel rather empty all of a sudden.

"I would say Cal has a bit more about him than that, sir," Jack said. He hesitated when everyone looked at him, like he'd said something blasphemous. "I mean...not to speak ill of Hockley senior, of course."

Cal slid a gaze to the side, wanting to smile, but practising a sneer instead.

Mr. Dubelle laughed.

"Oh, of course not, dear boy. I trust you're well enough acquainted with the Hockley's to get away with such remarks, anyhow? Anyone who has been granted Cal's elusive 'plus one' status is surely a most  _commendable_  gentleman, and a good friend too, no doubt."

Ruth made a small sound, the other side of Cal. She sipped some more wine, her mouth twitching.

Cal took a sharp breath, waiting for her to unleash.

"I wondered if you'd been receiving my letters, Mr. Hockley," Ruth said instead, her smile not moving. "There seems to have been some kind of delay in our correspondences recently."

Cal stilled his wine glass.

"...there have been some distractions recently."

"I'm sure," Ruth's eyes returned, without any subtlety, to Jack. "You're quite the busy man, aren't you?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Business must be a burden in it's way," Mr. Dubelle said. "Good thing all the filthy dollar more than makes up for it. Right, Cal?"

Cal smiled vaguely at him, but kept his eyes on Ruth.

"I shall give you satisfactory response as soon as I can. You needn't worry about that, Mrs. Bukater."

Ruth's smile creased.

"And how is Mr. Dawson, these days? Has he broken any more hearts, I wonder?"

"I didn't know I had that sort of reputation," Jack grinned at the pretty brunette girl, and she laughed at him.

Everyone else did too, because of course they were charmed by him. Cal was practically _counting_ on it, like another desperate lifeline.

Ruth's stare only became colder, though.

"I've heard tale of your reputation, Mr. Dawson. Only rumour, of course."

"I should say so. He is a handsome lad," Dubelle said. "No doubt the ladies fawn all over him."

Jack cleared his throat. "Hah. I don't know about that, sir."

"Well, I'm sure my daughter could do without the type that Mr. Dawson promotes himself as," Ruth said. "It would be a lucky escape, wouldn't it, Cal?"

"I'm sure."

Cal looked away from the table.

There were a few people already pairing up together on the sizeable dance floor, dancing to some jaunty piano music. He watched them all bleakly,  _enviously_ , wondering how it was that they could all be so oblivious, when potential ruin was happening all around him.

"How is Rose anyway, Mrs. Bukater?" said Jack. "I hope she's well?"

Cal enjoyed Ruth's involuntary scowl.

"She is very well, Mr. Dawson. Although your interest is quite bewildering to me, I must say. I didn't know you were so well acquainted with my daughter," she stared at Cal. "Did you know that, Mr. Hockley?"

"I didn't," Cal said, and then realised that the table was waiting on some sort of elaboration. "...I don't know Mr. Dawson that well myself, as it happens. He's here on a formal business meeting, nothing else."

He couldn't help saying it; it was the fear of too many eyes, judging every single word he'd ever said. But it didn't make him feel any better about it.

And now he felt Jack's eyes too, and Cal knew that he was upset.

"I was unaware. I thought you two were old friends," Ruth said. "My mistake."

"It doesn't matter."

The rest of the table chattered between themselves, and it should have been comfortable and normal. Around this time, Cal would usually have been locating the other gents, and they'd soon be talking amongst cigar smoke, away from the rest of the world.

Now all he wanted to do was to leave.

He stood up automatically.

Jack looked up at him. "Where are you going?"

"...nowhere. I mean...the restroom."

"Are you alright?"

"Of course I am."

He felt Jack's stare linger as he dismissed himself from the table and turned away, making a marked path through dancing figures and blurred greetings.

It wasn't a migraine, he realised. He was too sharply focused for that, and he didn't feel sick, either. His throat was closing up instead, and he felt giddy.

Behind closed doors, he leaned against cool stone-tiled wall, attempting to gather himself back together. His chest gradually began to slow against the alarming tremor that had somehow reached it, and his hands started to steady again. He couldn't believe what had come over him.

It wasn't so bad as he was imagining, _surely_.

Nobody else knew who Jack was. Nobody else knew how they'd met or what had happened on the Titanic. That was all old news, and Jack had been more than the perfect example of a gentleman, anyway.

No reason for anyone to suspect. And even if they did, and even if they knew, there was no _proof_...

"Hey."

Cal turned round, to see Jack's worried face in the doorway. It was somehow the best and most terrible thing he could have looked at in that moment.

Cal took a swallowed breath.

"Dawson," he said curtly.

"We can go if you want," Jack stepped properly into the bathroom. "I mean, before she says something."

"It's too early for that. It would be rude."

Jack scoffed. "Who cares? I'll just tell them you're feeling unwell."

"No, it's fine," Cal straightened a bit, checking himself in the mirror. His reflection was not encouraging. "It's...I'm fine."

"Yeah, _right._ Like I believe that."

Cal was aware of a hand then, tapering so lightly on his hip. It accompanied a warm breath that made his skin prickle and pulse.

"You're not such a good liar anymore, Cal."

Jack's mouth pressed into the hollow of Cal's neck, and Cal tilted his head up, unable to repress an uneven sigh.

"...not here...are you mad..."

"No, not at all," Jack said.

He sounded so sure of himself, and Cal shut his eyes, and let fingers move around him; prying and picking at belt buckle, just for a few moments.

His legs were becoming too weak, and his sigh had turned into something else, before he remembered himself again.

"...no _...stop it._ "

He turned around, simultaneously pushing Jack back. Not very hard, but enough to drive a disparate point home.

"I'm sorry," Jack said. "I just-"

"You can't do that," Cal snapped. He turned away and bowed his head, hands clutching at the cooling sink in the shortest relief, as he tried to compose himself. Some annoying lump had caught in his throat. "You  _can't_..."

Jack's hand moved onto his shoulder.

"Cal, I didn't mean to-"

"Just  _stop_ ," Cal shrugged him off. "I can't...I can't feel like this. Not  _here,_ for god's sake..."

Jack looked at him as if he'd been stung.

"Fine," he said, after a moment. His expression was neutral as he stepped back. "If this is how you want to do it, that's fine."

"How I...?" Cal stared at him. "Dawson, I  _don't_ -"

"I'll see you later."

Jack slipped out the room as quickly as he'd entered it, and Cal was left with his mouth slightly parted; unfulfilled apologetic words still waiting there, that Jack wouldn't hear anymore.

It wasn't that he thought Jack was wrong. More than anything he knew that Jack was right, and far more than anything else, he just wanted to go home and forget everything but Jack himself.

But he couldn't leave yet; it'd be Ruth's victory otherwise.

And Cal couldn't stand to lose.

He straightened his tie and glared at his reflection in the mirror.

" _Idiot._  Why don't you pull yourself together?"

He took a few sharp breathes, combing a hand through hair. It'd become unseemly with Jack's attention.

Then he marched out the room, his head clearing. Not so much with any sense of clarity, but with a fresh and stubborn (and some might say foolhardy) kind of determination.

8

The first thing he noticed was Jack dancing.

He was with the pretty brunette girl (Cal supposed he should try to remember her name), and they looked good together, like they might have been a matching set, made for each other. They could have been a couple, perhaps.

The girl must have been surprised. It was a flaw in protocol, but Jack was handsome and charming, so he could get away with asking whomever he liked to dance. Nobody was going to question it.

It shouldn't have been any surprise at all, but the sight of it made Cal's chest hurt, all the same.

It wasn't the typical sort of jealousy, either. Not the sort that made him fret about what might have been going through Jack's mind when he smiled at her, or the way her hand curved around his back. Or how they just _laughed_ together.

It was the sort that made Cal wish it was that easy. The sort that made him wish he could link an arm into Jack's, and nobody would stare. The sort that made him wish that he didn't have to lie, and believe that even being _associated_ with Jack was too shameful.

And all for the sake of a few people he'd probably never run into again. Reputation wasn't going to keep him alive at night, anyway.

He felt nauseous, very suddenly.

"Oh. It must be so upsetting for you."

Cal turned around. Ruth was standing there, watching him with a sickly smile.

Cal returned it. "Excuse me?"

"You must be  _seething_  jealousy."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Ruth laughed. "Don't play so stupid, Cal. Seeing him like that, with someone else? It must drive you _mad_."

Cal felt his smile quiver, around another poisonous thought.

"Has Rose not forgiven you yet, Ruth?"

Ruth's smile slipped, and Cal felt the mildest satisfaction. He'd get his own knives out wherever he could.

"Rose is none of your business anymore, Mr. Hockley."

"I was just being concerned, that's all."

"So stop. It isn't your right anymore," Ruth tapped her fingers to her chest, close enough to the diamond necklace. "It must hurt though, mustn't it? Wanting something you can't have."

Cal noticed the shine in her eyes. "No more than it hurts you, I suppose."

Ruth shook her head.

"Oh, I suspect I'll get over my misfortune soon enough," she looked him up and down then, as if she might pity him. "And it would surely kill your father off too, wouldn't it?"

Amongst the tuneful sound of piano and strings, her words were deceptively light, and Cal knew he couldn't contend them. A detached smile crept up on him instead, when he looked between the diamond and Ruth's face.

"Shall we dance?" he asked, in monotone.

Ruth laughed, and took his arm.

"That would be delightful."

Cal led her to the dance floor with no desire for anything but to end current conversation. Ruth wouldn't want to cause a scene, because appearance was everything and they both knew it.

Cal watched her face resolve to a mask of control, and perhaps for the first time he resented her in the same way Rose had done.

Perhaps that was why he resented himself too. He still couldn't get rid of his own mask.

They didn't really dance, just walked stiltedly around together; clinging on to their reputations and to each other, despite the want to be anywhere else.

Cal looked passed her shoulder, to see Jack.

He was still dancing, and his technique was all wrong, but he was laughing, and the girl was laughing too, so it didn't matter. Cal couldn't look away from them.

"Be careful. He might get away," Ruth whispered, close to his ear. "That would be a pity, wouldn't it?"

Cal could imagine her sneer, but he couldn't answer her. Articulation was cruel and always seemed to abandon him at the most crucial moments

Then Jack turned his head and finally noticed him. His grin fell away for the briefest moment, but he was like a true gentleman, and he didn't stop dancing.

Cal tore away from Ruth before the first dance had ended.

"You can't just walk away from this, Cal," she hissed after him, even as he did.

8

8

The night air was warm and the manor house garden looked beautiful, even in the dark. There was a large marble water fountain set close to the house itself, and far beyond that were rows of ordered hedges, and carefully placed trees and archways, leading down intricate paths into further shrubbery.

It was like a flower-speckled maze, and Cal waited on the edge of it all, listening to the sound of running water.

The hour had worn on into another, and then another, and he'd soon forgotten the night between glasses of wine and brandy.

Avoiding Ruth had been easy enough; putting himself to good use in the court of men, and having conversations and cigars that were all much duller than he remembered.

He'd finally found Jack talking to a group of women who were listening avidly to every word he said.

Jack's eyes were only for Cal though. "Hey. I thought I'd lost you."

"I was talking business and politics...you know, that boring stuff."

"Oh," Jack smiled faintly, and as the next song began, he leaned in to Cal's ear. "Meet me outside, in the garden."

So there Cal was, watching the blurry flow of the fountain and wondering if he'd allowed himself too much to drink.

Jack looked like a silhouette as he met him.

"Good evening, good sir," he practised a dramatic and maybe mocking bow. "So, how do I look?"

"Quite drunk," Cal smirked.

"Ah. But could I pass for a gentleman?"

"Gentlemen don't get drunk," Cal considered. "But I picked that suit out, so obviously you pass."

Jack laughed, and then he looped an arm around Cal's shoulders, formality and everything else forgotten. It was okay though; Cal had forgotten too, and Jack's breath was close and strong with alcohol, and his weight was prominent but not too much.

Cal wanted it there. And at least Jack wasn't annoyed.

"You're saying I look good in the suit?" Jack said, close to his neck.

"I don't believe I said anything of the sort, Dawson."

"No, you didn't. But I'm gonna take it that way."

"Hah. If you must."

Jack's weight became softer then, like his voice; "You're drunk, too. I can tell."

Cal laughed at him. "How is that, then?"

"You wouldn't have met me here if you weren't."

"...I would have."

"You  _wouldn't_."

"I..."

Cal trailed off, and decided he didn't want to argue it. Instead he let Jack lead the way down the path, through the neatly trimmed grasses and orchards.

"Where are we going, Dawson?"

"I'm not sure, yet. Somewhere away from everyone else. So we don't have to worry anymore."

"I see."

They walked in quiet, though it wasn't the sort of quiet Cal often dreaded, or felt the need to fill in with unnecessary words.

He could take the time to enjoy Jack's hand on his own, and the decorative trees and plants that passed them by, soft scents that had become more pungent in the night air somehow. The tinkle of music from the manor house was fading and _fading_  away, with each leisured step.

Cal realised he could actually  _live_  in the moment, and nothing terrible was going to happen to them.

His head was humming with alcohol, and the night was warm and perfect, and Jack's breath was even warmer.

Cal leaned into him, just a bit.

"I'm glad you're here, Jack."

"Oh?" Jack's head dipped near to his shoulder, and he sounded like he was smiling. "Are you trying to say you're having a good time with me, Cal?"

"I suppose I am."

They stopped somewhere in the middle of a pathway, and seemed to face each other on a natural instinct. The manor house was mostly obstructed by hedgerow, and it was unlikely that anyone would notice them there. It was still in the back of Cal's mind, but only barely.

He looked at Jack.

"It's been...very bearable, because of you."

"'Bearable'?" Jack's grin was bright, even in the dark. "Don't kill me with compliments, now."

Cal clenched his jaw and glared at the ground.

"...yes. _Well_."

Jack laughed. "I'm joking."

"Right," Cal kept his eyes on the ground. "Of course I know that," he took a breath that felt like it'd been caged there for too long. "I...I would have liked to have danced with you, though."

He hadn't meant to sound so earnest about it, but it came out like that. Something pathetic, maybe.

"I mean...you dance very well," he tried to amend. "I would have...I don't dance very much, usually."

"I wish you would," Jack said, without hesitation. "'Cos you look kind of perfect."

His hand rested lightly on Cal's chest, and Cal could feel the vibration of his own heart, hammering furiously through his palm.

He swallowed down the consistent annoyance which was his nerves, and perhaps a part of his pride too.

"Jack. About earlier...I didn't mean to say I don't know you well. I was just-"

"Ssh," Jack said quickly. "I understand why you did."

His tone was final, but he didn't sound resigned or anything like that. More like he actually did understand, and his smile became easier.

For a moment he looked like he was going to do something else. The gap between them was so insignificant.

Then he turned around suddenly, to a trellised archway, and gestured for Cal to go ahead. There was a small bench sat amongst red roses and a stone wall behind it, suggesting they'd walked to the very end of the Dubelle's seemingly endless garden.

"After you, good sir _,_ " Jack said, and bowed again.

"Please stop doing that."

They both sat down on the bench, and Jack pulled his suit jacket off. Without it, he seemed much smaller, and less invincible than Cal could have believed he was.

He just looked hot and bothered; there was a glisten to his skin, and his face was uncharacteristically fraught. He was staring at the faintly winking lights of the manor house with a delayed relief, like he'd just escaped from a snake pit.

And then Cal realised; he must have been _so nervous._

Cal reached tentatively out, and grasped his hand.

"I do hope you've enjoyed yourself. At least a little."

Jack looked down at Cal's hand in some surprise.

"I did," he said, and his mouth curved a smile. "But I kinda agree with you."

"About what?"

"I would've liked to have danced together, too."

Then Jack leaned in.

It was a messy and unfocused kiss, but Cal hardly cared about that.

He slipped into it, eliciting sounds he could not help, nor had any desire to stop. There were hands tugging at his jacket and pulling it off, and then fingers were curling on his collar, picking at buttons and exposing flesh.

Cal shuddered, but not with cold. Jack's mouth was very bruising and fierce, but Cal didn't mind, and it followed the shake of his breath.

Through a murmured sound, not a protest, he broke the kiss.

"What's wrong?" Jack said at once.

Cal stared at his kind face, and it was like an answer to his question.

"Nothing," he realised. "Nothing at all, actually."

There was not even a fleeting moment of apprehension, before he'd made his mind up. He dropped down, and onto his knees, right in front of Jack.

"Cal, what're you..."

As his fingers trembled at Jack's buttoned breeches, it should have been the most terrible act of rebellion.

And perhaps it was, in the most sensible and proper part of his mind. Remembering the distant lights of the manor windows, and imagining all the scandalised faces behind them. And _Ruth's face_. Only because Cal could never entirely forget his own vindictive tendencies, of course.

Or maybe Jack was right, and he was just too drunk.

But when he looked up at Jack, he knew that it was far more than any of that.

It might have been too difficult to show his appreciation, or find suitable apology with hesitant and useless words, but Cal realised that he could find other ways to do it.

He managed to undo the last button, and then he felt Jack's fingers,  _moving_ , so carefully through his hair.

"Cal...you don't have to do that..."

"...but I'm happy to," Cal said, through his best sneer.

And then Jack's fingers became coiled and tight, and his sigh turned into a long and blissful moan.

8

8

"Do we have to go back?"

Cal smiled. "I think so. Unfortunately."

His voice felt hoarse, and Jack smothered his mouth between another mantra of apologies.

Cal didn't mind.

"I'm very pleased you enjoyed yourself," he said, through a short laugh.

"An understatement _,"_  Jack said. Then he clutched Cal's face again, and kissed him more ferociously.

The walk back to the manor was reluctant and slow, and their bodies moved further and further apart, the closer they got to it. Details of people became clearer, and the music became louder. It was like stepping back into another world. The one that fit like old shoes, but had always seemed to pinch too much.

Ruth must have been waiting for them.

She stood at the edge of the garden by herself, cigarette and wineglass in hand. A tested smile somehow found her face, when she waved Cal over.

"I'll meet you on the front," Cal said to Jack.

"Are you sure?"

"Unless you actually want to converse with Ruth Bukater?"

"Good point," Jack's fingers lingered, unseen, on Cal's chest. "But don't worry about her."

Cal hadn't known he might look so worried, but he must have done. He returned Jack's smile, anyway.

"Of course I won't."

Their gazes held for as long as Jack's hand on his chest, and Cal felt weak and so tempted to forget the Bukater problem entirely.

"Cal?" Ruth called him again.

Her smile withered, but she laughed when Cal greeted her.

Her breath was strong with wine, and her eyes shone. She looked unstable, but it was still undetectable to anyone who wasn't really looking for it.

Cal knew it, though.

"Ruth, I was -"

" _Caledon Hockley_ ," She rolled out his name, like a teacher might scold a naughty pupil. "Where did you disappear off to, I wonder? I looked for you _all_ around the manor house...but could I find you? Not at all."

Cal smiled at her. "I apologise. I was otherwise preoccupied for much of the night. Lots of catching up to do. You know how it is."

"I'm sure," Ruth laughed, and her wine glass jerked in her hand.

Cal looked about in brief anxiety, wondering if anyone else would gather her condition.

"Mrs. Bukater-"

"I'm sure you've been  _very_  preoccupied with certain people, Mr. Hockley," sharpness suddenly flooded her voice. "And I suppose he didn't get away from you, after all."

"You should mind yourself," Cal tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she pushed it away.

"Uncouth _deviant_  that he is..." she spoke through her teeth. "I think you deserve each other."

"Ruth, this isn't-"

"You can't hide it, you know. The lusting is practically on display for everyone to see. Appalling as it is."

Cal looked past her, practising a bored expression. "Why did you even come here, Ruth? If not to humiliate me with the truth? Surely you're not here to torture yourself?"

Ruth's mouth turned up again, and it was gradual and ominous.

"Your father _knows_ , Cal."

Her laugh was vindictive, and the smile became real then, perhaps for the first time that entire evening.

Cal stared at her, lowering his hand away from her shoulder, like it might burn.

He must have misheard her.

"...what?"

"I sent Nathan the letter the day after the Titanic sunk. He _knows_  about Dawson, Cal. He knows about  _you_. He knows about  _everything_ _._ "

Her words were cold, as Cal should have expected them to be.

He probably should have been better prepared for them then. Yet it was still like something had pulled out his insides, and he was hollow again.

Maybe Jack had already rubbed off on him too much, and everything was obviously more devastating when you looked for the better nature in someone. Hoped that they weren't going to dig the knife in like that, and twist it around.

Ruth laughed again.

"What? Are you really so surprised, Cal? Did you think we could sweep it all under the rug and be done with?" her mouth twisted. "And to be so  _brazen_ about it, as to parade around the one who _ruined us all?_ I don't know how you can have the  _nerve._ "

Cal flinched, but he couldn't bring himself to do or say anything. He just stood there, absorbed in a pointless shock.

It was like remembering himself far too late; and being wrapped back into the familiar grip of those he thought he knew, safe for a few instances. Then he realised he'd been thoroughly consumed, and spat back out again.

Ruth's disgust was sharp, and Cal couldn't barely look at her anymore.

"Thank you for telling me," he nodded, and turned away.

He didn't see anyone's face or hear any of their murmured words, as he pushed through the manor hall, past dancing figures.

He found a short-lived solace outside. Jack was waiting there for him, smoking and smiling and oblivious to all of it.

"Hey, are you alright? You look kinda pale."

Cal nodded, searching about himself for a cigarette, on bleak auto-pilot.

"I'm alright."

"Well good," Jack caught his shirt, pulling him in as close as he dared. "Cos I think we need to continue what we started in the garden when we get home."

Cal took the cigarette that Jack offered him with a grateful smile.

It would be better, he realised, if Jack did remain perfectly oblivious.

Because even if the world was starting to crumble all around him, Jack could always be relied upon to make it seem a bit more bearable.

 

 


	8. Always Tomorrow

The journey home felt detached, as if watching a fragmented dream.

It made even less sense than the usual sort of dream, and in any other instance it would have been a case of too much alcohol. Cal had a vain wish that it could only have been that, somewhere at the back of his hazed mind.

Mrs. Bardot met them at the door, enquiring about the party and all the guests with interest. Jack was happy to indulge her, and Cal walked past them both, not really listening to the conversation.

"I need to sort some things out," he said, making a beeline for the stairs. "It won't take very long."

There was a tap on his shoulder, and then Jack was pulling him round. "You coming back downstairs?"

"...erm, bed. Probably."

Jack nodded, an eyebrow quirking up along with the side of his mouth. He looked too playful. "Guess I'll meet you up there, then."

"I..." Cal started, but was saved much embarrassment by Bardot.

"Your bothersome father has been calling for you this evening, Mr. Hockley."

"If he tries again tell him he'll know everything by tomorrow."

"Very well," Bardot hesitated. "He sounded  _quite_ insistent, sir."

Cal's stomach turned, and he smiled at her.

"I'm sure he did."

Jack's hand lingered on his sleeve.

"Nothing serious, is it?"

Cal paused on the stairway.

"I doubt it very much, Dawson."

8

8

He went into the study room and sat down in the dark for a few minutes. Turning on a lamp light didn't provide much clarity, and he closed his eyes, imagining and debating the bottom desk drawer in his mind.

Then he opened his eyes, and opened the drawer.

The silver pistol had been sitting there for a while now, half-hidden by archival files and collecting too much dust.

Cal had thought about it, very fleetingly, in the past. But it had never really been a viable or very realistic option.

Just the threat of it had always made his blood run cold.

Now he held the pistol, and though it felt as he remembered, it wasn't so off-putting anymore.

It'd been purchased on a whim, when Lovejoy had once mentioned burglary in the neighbourhood. The idea of protecting a future fortune with a bullet had been an appealing novelty at the time, though Cal had always been a lousy shot.

"Can't imagine missing this shot," he muttered, and rolled the pistol in his hand.

The solution was selfish, he knew that. And maybe it was easier when his head was still clouded with alcohol, and the promise of his father's anger and disappointment. But even if he didn't do it, he couldn't quite imagine a life in which  _anyone_  would be happy.

Especially not Jack; practising a secret and repressed life. It wasn't fair on someone like that.

_Damn Jack._

It seemed that even if Cal still cared about his fortune, his standing, his  _reputation,_ he cared about other things now as well. Therein was the problem.

He couldn't have it  _all_  ways, and though it was greedy and selfish, he still wanted it all anyway.

Perhaps he deserved it, then.

Cal smiled at the pistol.

"Why does it appear I'm drawing the short and rather messy straw, then?"

Maybe he'd do it away from the house, though. He didn't like the idea of Jack or Bardot walking in and finding...

"... _Cal?_ "

Jack's voice called from the stairway, and then footsteps and a knock at the door.

"Cal? Are you in there?"

The door opened just as he'd replaced the gun in the drawer.

It was alright. There was always tomorrow.

"What're you doing in here, Dawson? I told you-"

"I know, I know," Jack waved away the words as he walked over. His smart shirt tie was undone, and his hair was a bit dishevelled. He was holding a beer glass in his hand, and he still looked good. "But Bardot and I are having a private after-party downstairs. Only the most prestigious guests allowed. You're on the invite list. I just checked it."

He looked at Cal hopefully, and Cal rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

"Would you even accept a 'no'?"

Jack shook his head. "Sorry."

He moved behind Cal, placing hands on his shoulders, massaging them so slowly and precisely that Cal couldn't help a hummed sound of pleasure. He bowed his head a bit, and shortly closed his eyes.

"How am I ever supposed to resist you?"

"Oh, I hope you never do," Jack breath was hot on his neck, and his voice was close to his ear. "Besides, we still need to finish off what we started in the garden. I've not forgotten."

Cal flushed and snapped open his eyes with the memory.

He must have gone mad for a while, that was all.

Jack's busy hands became firmer on his shoulders, and Cal groaned in resignation.

"I hope nobody saw us together, Dawson."

"I don't care if they did."

"I do."

"I know," Jack didn't sound annoyed. "You're going to break Bardot's heart if you don't join us, you know."

Cal smiled, and let Jack turn his head to kiss him on the mouth.

"...oh really?"

"She's a pretty good dancer, Cal. Damn shame if you don't see it."

"Can't I just take your word for it?"

"Nope," Jack pulled him up. "This is a proper VIP party. So you better come enjoy it."

8

8

"You really are brilliant, Mr. Dawson."

Bardot twirled around to some cheerful and popular tune that was crackling on the gramophone. The room was lit by soft yellow lamplight, and there were already a couple of open and empty wine bottles on the table. Jack laughed and took her hand again, giving her another twirl around.

Cal took another sip of wine, and smiled at them both.

"What do you say, Mr. Hockley? Aren't we a fine pair?"

"I'd say you're both damn near legless by the looks of it."

"Nonsense. She knows all the proper moves," Jack said, and dipped her.

She shrieked with laughter as he lifted her back up.

"Oh, isn't he just wonderful?"

Cal rolled his eyes. "Absolutely perfect, apparently."

"Come on, Cal. Aren't you going to join us?" Jack said.

He held out a hand, and Cal scoffed at it.

"Don't be absurd. I'm quite entertained watching you two, thank you very much."

Jack looked mildly disappointed, or maybe something else, but he turned back to Bardot's insistent hold anyway, and they began another dance to another song.

Cal really was happy just to watch them, though.

Seeing Jack's figure move; the tilt of his grin and easy laughter, Cal could have forgotten everything else. In the same way he'd realised it at the party, and to be frank, any other time he noticed Jack doing  _anything at all_ , Cal could not take his eyes off him.

Everything else was rendered superfluous; a grey backdrop to a pop of colour that demanded all of his attention without ever having to ask for it.

And wasn't that what it was  _supposed_  to feel like, or what he should have strove for, in finding anyone at all?

Those old tales of a dramatic romance had always seemed too childish before, or too unbelievable and intense to match up with the reality of day to day life, but when Cal looked at Jack he thought he could understand them a bit more.

Hell; he'd even considered the _damn pistol_  before the thought of telling Jack it was over.

The realisation made him want to laugh, or perhaps cry. He wasn't sure which yet, and neither seemed very appropriate.

"...I remember being invited to a couple of dinner parties, but they were rather too intimidating, I must say," Mrs. Bardot had stopped dancing, and was fanning herself against a cushioned chair. "I commend you, Mr. Dawson, for even daring to attend them."

Jack laughed at her.

"It wasn't so bad," he sat down next to Cal on the couch. "There was some good company, after all."

He patted Cal's leg, in a way that was probably supposed to be casual.

"It's a shame you didn't come, Mrs. Bardot. We could have shown them all up with your talents."

"You're very sweet, Mr. Dawson. But I fear those days are far behind me now. Mr. Hockley, don't you agree he's a  _fine_  dancer?"

"...I suppose he's alright."

"Hah, my harshest critic," Jack nudged him in the side. "You still owe me a dance, by the way."

Cal raised a brow. "Since when?"

"Since now. I want one."

"I don't think you're grasping the concept of the word 'owe', Dawson."

Jack didn't seem to care about that; he just laughed, and their shoulders jarred together. The sort of contact that made Cal's stomach jolt in the best way, and he couldn't help his own smile.

"It is a shame," Bardot said. "Mr. Hockley is a fine dancer himself. I remember at the old Hockley residence there were plenty of admirers, always waiting for him to ask them onto the dancefloor."

Cal scoffed. "You're misremembering, Mrs. Bardot. Dancing has always been something of a trial for me. A dreaded struggle, even."

"I daresay it must have been. Your choices were always rather limited, in retrospect. Far too many young ladies."

Cal stared at her. The heat reaching his cheeks was not in any kind of anger, but an embarrassed realisation.

Had she always known? Even _then?_

"In any case, I believe you two are very suited to dancing with each other. Please forgive my boldness in saying so, Mr. Hockley."

"You're always too bold. I'm in a constant state of having to forgive you," Cal muttered.

He looked to the side, and noticed Jack. Still smiling at him as if it didn't matter.

"I think she's got a good point," he said.

"You would take her side," Cal meant to glare at him, but their eyes locked and all he could do was stare. There was something softer there, and Cal couldn't look away.

"Well now," Bardot yawned into the silence, and she looked around the room as if she'd interrupted an actual conversation. "It has been a most  _wonderful_ private party, hosted so courteously by Mr. Dawson. But I'm afraid I must retire to bed now."

Jack kissed her hand.

"Goodnight, dear lady."

"'Dear lady'? What on earth would my husband think?"

"He'd be scandalised," Cal told her. "And disappointed in you."

"You're no fun, Mr. Hockley," Bardot said, but she still smiled at him. "Goodnight."

She left without another word, and Cal and Jack were alone again.

The gramophone was still playing, though it was something much slower now. The light had become dimmer too, and perhaps it was very late. Cal had lost track of time, as he always tended to when Jack was around.

Jack stood up suddenly, and held his hand out to Cal.

"So. May I have this dance, then?"

Cal looked between the hand and Jack's face in some alarm.

"What? No...Jack-"

Jack grasped his hand anyway, pulling him up.

They stood in the middle of the room, close together, and Cal's head fuzzed with the remnants of too much wine. He felt dizzy, but it wasn't entirely because of that.

Jack grinned. "You said you wanted to dance with me at the party. Well, here I am."

"I can see that," Cal swallowed with some difficulty.

"What's wrong?"

"...nothing."

"Okay then," Jack's face softened. "And I said I wanted to dance with you too, remember?"

"Obviously I remember."

"Well. Good."

A hand moved carefully round Cal's waist, and the gap between them became even smaller. Another hand locked round Cal's, fingers entwining, in a hold that was close to their chests. Cal feebly attempted to resist, because of course it would only make everything more difficult in the long term, but that didn't seem to matter at all right now.

He tilted his head over Jack's shoulder instead, and began to follow the slow shuffle of his feet. _Hopeless._

"What dance is this then, Dawson? I don't believe I know it."

"Hm, I don't really know. I like it, though."

Cal smiled weakly. "We're hardly moving at all."

"Yeah, but we're together. So it's all good, isn't it?"

"...that is true,"

Cal closed his eyes, and wetness slipped down his cheek in the same moment. He was only grateful that Jack couldn't see his face.

He felt the hand round the back of his head move, and fingers curling slowly through his hair.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Jack said.

"Hardly ever, actually."

" _Hah_. I worry about you, though."

"You shouldn't bother."

Jack's mouth touched his neck. "But I do. And I want to help, however I can."

His hand pressed to Cal's cheek, tempting him to turn his head back, so that they might face each other again.

Cal bowed his head against Jack's neck instead.

"It's only work related things. Wouldn't interest you."

"I'm interested in everything about you, Cal."

Cal took a shortened breath, rendered speechless by the simple admission.

It was the perfect opportunity, and in his mind he imagined kissing Jack, and telling him  _everything_.

He imagined how easy everything might have been then, because Jack always seemed to have an answer for everything. Cal would hesitate about it, and Jack would tell him not to be so uptight, and then Cal would eventually relent, realising how right Jack was. It was perfect and predictable. All within his mind, of course.

He probably wouldn't need that pistol, either.

"...are you very happy, Jack?"

"What?" Jack sounded amused. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know."

"Cal," Jack caught his chin. Cal had no choice but to look at him. "Are you  _sure_  you're okay?"

"...yes."

"You don't have to lie to me, you know."

"I'm not lying. I just...I don't want you to pretend."

Jack's eyes were searching, and he looked confused.

"I don't pretend anything," his head tilted closer, so that Cal could see the individual strands in his hair. "I'm happy and I want you. Like mad."

"But then you have to pretend that you don't, around everyone else. Isn't that the same thing?"

Jack laughed. "It isn't the ideal relationship, is it? But it can work. I know it can."

Cal stared dully at him.

"I wish I could make it better."

Jack shrugged. "It's not your fault it's like this."

Jack probably believed what he was saying, but Cal knew he was only being kindhearted.

It wasn't Jack's fault that Cal couldn't break away, and it wasn't Jack's fault that Cal was ultimately a coward, and couldn't bring himself to be truthful, even when there was nothing else left to lose.

That was the problem.

"Forget I said any of that, Dawson. I'm just tired," he tried to turn away, but Jack held his arm, keeping him fixed in place.

Despite the growing dark of the room, Cal could still see the lines of concern on his face.

"Are  _you_  happy, Cal?"

"Jack-"

" _Are you?_ "

"I'm..."

Coherence failed him for a few moments, as Jack's hand smoothed along his cheek, and then his jawline.

Cal closed his eyes, in a soft sigh.

"...yes..."

The music had stopped playing a while ago, and the room was blanketed in silence and dim with dying lamplight. Cal didn't notice any of it; only that Jack tasted of wine, and his hands were warm as they pressed into his chest, pushing him back down on the couch.

Cal smiled against Jack's mouth.

"...what about the dance?"

Jack's fingers became urgent, pulling at and undoing redundant clothing. He shook his head.

"There's always tomorrow, Cal..."

Cal's breath hitched with the unintended weight of the words, and perhaps Jack kissed him harder, taking it as something else entirely.

It didn't really matter how he took it. He wasn't going to find out.

Cal tilted his head back, complying easily with an insistent mouth and impatient hands. Jack was a dark outline of warmth and soothing words, and Cal moaned around a much more intimate touch.

"...you mean it?" Jack asked.

"...mean what?"

"You're happy?"

Cal grasped around his back, with an involuntary and panting breath.

"...I..I am..."

It wasn't a lie.

In these precise moments, he really was.

88

88

88

The plan was that he'd get up early that morning, before Jack might wake up and catch him.

He got so far as dis-tangling himself from bed sheets, before an arm slung heavily across his chest, and Jack's voice crackled with sleep;

"...good mornin'."

Cal stared at the ceiling in despair. "Morning."

He'd hoped Jack might go back to the guest room last night, just like he was supposed to. Unfortunately (or perhaps not), Jack didn't seem to care about subtle protocol anymore. Especially now that Bardot knew. He stayed with Cal at night, and clung to him like he might disappear.

Cal recalled the haziness of the early hours with a small smile; some heated motions that had become rough but wanted, interspersed with vague and senseless words that had seemed very meaningful in the moment.

They still were, he realised. That was what made it so much more difficult, when he remembered everything else.

He sat up quickly, and pulled Jack's arm off his chest.

"I have to go."

"But it's so early," Jack said, his hand siding between Cal's legs. "Can't we have some fun first?"

Cal smiled faintly. "Is that all you ever think about, Dawson?"

"It's not my fault you're so irresistible."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

Jack pouted. "It usually does," he rubbed his eyes and sat up as well. "What is it? Some problems at work?"

"No. Well...some small ones, I suppose," Cal internally cursed; there would be no quick escape. His plans were already falling apart and the day had barely begun. Perhaps it was a sign of things to come. "It's nothing really. I just need to sort a few bothersome things out with my father."

"Oh, Mr. Joy himself?"

"Yes," Cal reached into the bedside cabinet, finding a cigarette and a lighter. He tried to ignore Jack's frisky hand, and then his mouth on his neck, as he lit up.

"What does he want? I hope he's not the one making you so miserable."

Cal stared at Jack, wondering for a ridiculous moment if he knew everything.

"I told you. It's just boring and work related stuff. You'd much rather watch paint that's _already_  dry, than listen to me tell you all about it."

Jack smiled, around another much more insistent kiss. "That's okay. I know how to shut you up now, if it gets too boring."

Cal raised a brow, hoping he'd staved off his embarrassment enough.

"This is going to be a fire hazard," he reluctantly pushed Jack away and handed the cigarette over to him. "I'll be back later."

"Fine," Jack lay reluctantly back in the bed. He took a long drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out. "Don't worry so much, Cal."

"I don't."

Jack caught Cal's wrist. "See you later, then."

Cal stared at their hands, curved together, for a moment.

"...see you, Dawson."

He didn't hang around in the bedroom. It was less complicated that way; no chance to second guess anything or imagine Jack's concerned words again. Just imagining him at all.

He washed and shaved, and by the time he'd returned to the bedroom to dress, Jack was already turned over and falling asleep. Cal paused in the process of straightening his collar and stared at Jack's back, momentarily overcome by the desire to crawl back into the bed and forget everyone else.

He shook his head and hurried downstairs.

"Aren't you having any breakfast, Mr. Hockley?" Bardot asked, full of disapproval.

"No," Cal swiftly stubbed another cigarette out. "Don't wake Dawson up. Let him sleep in today."

"Oh, is the poor dear feeling tired out after last night's frivolities?"

Cal was mortified for a few seconds, his mind reeling and wondering exactly how loud they'd been. Then he realised she was talking about the dinner party. Of course.

He gave Bardot a withered smile and shrugged his coat on.

"Most likely. Too much drink."

It wasn't true. Jack wasn't the type to suffer delicate conditions like that, but it was a good enough excuse for now. Or perhaps enough not to rouse Bardot's suspicions too much, and bide Cal enough time to try and salvage a reputation. Or the pretence of one.

"Don't forget this," Bardot indicated his briefcase, and Cal looked at it blankly for a moment.

"...oh. Of course."

"Are you  _sure_  you don't need another week off, Mr. Hockley?"

"Oh, I would love a  _thousand_ weeks off," Cal rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "But there's no rest for the wicked, is there?"

"I wouldn't know," Bardot straightened out his tie with a critical click of her tongue. "How much did you drink last night, Mr. Hockley? I do hope you're not going into work in a tender condition again. Last time was quite the scandal."

Cal flinched at the memory.

"Do I look so terrible?"

"You're rather pale," Bardot assessed. Then she took a step back, like she was giving it some more consideration. "If it is another migraine you must come home. No matter what your father thinks, you understand?"

"What are you, my  _mother_?"

"I may as well be."

Cal sneered, but realised Bardot's words came from the heart. He couldn't criticise her there.

For a moment he wanted to tell her. Tell her everything about Ruth and the revelations that she'd spilled to him last night. It wouldn't have been so improper, and it would have been a great relief to have someone else understand the situation at last...

"Mr. Hockley? Is everything alright?"

Cal blinked, coming back to his senses again.

"Yes. Of course."

 _Ridiculous_. It wasn't her business, and it was his own to sort out, anyway.

He checked his watch again.

"I don't know when I'll be back. I'll see you later."

"The usual time, I'd hope, Mr. Hockley."

Cal didn't bother answering her.

8

8

Nathan Hockley was running late and Cal had a good idea that it was intended.

He stood in his father's office, drumming fingers and tapping his foot in nervous habit again. His whole body was braced on an invisible edge, and it was dizzying if he got too close to it. He didn't have any grand plan after all, and that was what made it all the more frightening.

Perhaps he really had taken too many leaves out of Jack's free-form and imagined books; trying to go with some non-existent flow and imagine that things might just work themselves out. And perhaps he would crash and burn right here, in front of his father, because of it.

Still, he had to try.

By the time the door opened and Hockley senior had walked in; fat cigar in hand, barking orders at his secretary, Cal thought he might go mad.

Nathan eventually spared him a glance and smiled, seeming to know it. He dismissed his secretary, and at last they were alone.

"Good morning, Cal," Nathan gestured to a seat. "Won't you sit down?"

Cal thought about saying no. He sat down instead.

"I have to tell you..."

"Just a moment," Nathan waved a hand.

He began laying out some paperwork, painstaking and precise in placement, and then muttered various sounds of contempt at each one of them. Time ticked on, before he cast Cal another bored look over.

"This paperwork will certainly be the death of me."

Cal feigned a smile. "Father-"

"But it has to be done, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Cal stared at the table, realising he was going to have to let his father drag the morning out, into something inevitable and unpleasant. "I suppose it must."

Well, it was nothing less than he'd expected.

"Now then," Nathan leaned forward into the desk. "You're early, Cal. And you're in my office. That immediately rouses all of my suspicions."

Cal smiled a bit more. "You've never had much faith in me though, have you?"

"Please do elaborate. I have no time for your petty implications today," Nathan glanced back over his papers.

Cal pursed his lips, and spoke to the table again.

"Do you really want to drag this out? There's no-one else here to witness my humiliation, you know."

Nathan raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

Cal was never surprised by his father's endless audacity. It was a given, but it was still infuriating.

He stood up, and twisted away from the table.

" _Please_. I've granted you some indulgence, now stop pretending you're so clueless."

"Caledon," Nathan scoffed. "I'm sure I don't even _know_  what you're ranting about. Settle down. You'll unnerve that faint heart of yours."

Cal couldn't believe it. His father _had_  to be lying.

Nathan Hockley was too calculated for anything else, and Cal had already slipped into all of those manipulative traps time and time before. He couldn't do it again; for the sake of his own sanity.

And then for Jack, in some small and useless way.

Cal levelled his father an unflinching stare.

"I may as well be prudent about it, then."

He closed his eyes for a fractured second. Within it, he saw nothing but Jack.

"I can't deny my feelings. I think...I _do_  love him."

The words didn't pour from him like some natural declaration, not in the way he would have liked. They were jagged and awkward, almost painful. But still true; enough to make his eyes prickle.

He'd never said anything like that before. He wasn't sure he'd even thought about it or even realised it before.

It should have been a wonderful revelation.

"What?" Nathan said. His face had twisted.

Cal blinked back the sting, and took an unconscious step back. He could feel himself shaking when he looked at his father. The  _last_ person, the last in the  _entire world_ , who ever wanted to hear those words.

"Who is it?" Nathan demanded.

He was still playing oblivious. He must have been.

Cal clenched his jaw.

"Jack Dawson...the one you met-"

"I  _know_  who he is _._ "

Nathan's voice snapped through the air as he stood up. It wasn't quite a yell, but Cal still flinched and stepped back again. He watched, as a stream of cigar smoke flooded the air, and Nathan turned away.

"Jack Dawson, is it?"

"Yes..."

The silence was torture, and Cal stared bleakly at the desktop, reading neat scriptures of handwriting all within in his mind, like any of it made sense or was a convenient distraction. It wasn't, and he wondered when he might wake from such an endless nightmare.

He licked the dryness from his mouth.

"I was-"

"How long has this been going on?" Nathan said.

Cal stared at his father's back in confusion.

"I...Ruth told you everything."

Nathan laughed, and then turned around. His expression was smooth, like serenity.

"I haven't heard a word from Mrs. Bukater since the Titanic set sail. Well over a month ago."

"...what?" Cal felt suddenly weak. "...no. That can't be."

He sat down, briefly burying his head in his hands.

"That  _can_  be," Nathan said. "Because that is how it is."

"But she told me-"

"You've been duped, son. Not that it surprises me even a bit."

"No, she was adamant..."

"Oh, do try to  _think_ , Cal. A woman scorned is bad enough, but a mother is  _far_  worse," Nathan's smile was more like a grimace. "Looks like she got you good. What sweet and satisfactory vengeance it must have been for her. I'm rather impressed by the woman, aren't you?"

Cal opened his mouth to protest, but as flashes of last night caught up with him and ordered themselves, he found he couldn't.

It all made sense now,  _of course it did._

Ruth was bitter and drunk, and she'd just wanted Cal to trip up. And now he had, and Nathan's laugh was as he'd predicted in all his nightmares.

"So. You  _love_  him, then?"

Cal blinked up at his father.

"I..." he couldn't say it again, for whatever reason.

Nathan circled the room, face not altering from it's deceptive calm. He stopped then, looking at the stretch of the main wall and seeming to admire a scenic painting there, as if it had just arrived in the room.

He took another long drag on his cigar. "That is quite the pity, Cal _._ "

"...I didn't mean for it to happen."

"I'm sure you didn't. But that isn't the point at hand now, is it? We can't indulge in concepts of love, when other things need to be attended to."

"What...what do you mean?"

Cal watched in bewilderment as Nathan sat back down at the table. He began sorting through his paperwork with the thin line of a smile.

"Of course, it is an unfortunate slip up. But potentially a minor one. Nothing that can't be rectified."

Cal scraped his chair, slowly to the table.

"I...I don't understand."

"How terribly shocking," Nathan said flatly, and flicked over a piece of a paper, as if it were more interesting. "Perhaps you can break it off before...say, midday? And we can discuss future arrangements better after that."

Cal blinked at him.

"...'break it off'?"

"The  _Dawson boy,_  of course," Nathan looked irritated. "Cal, are you purposefully trying my patience this morning?"

"I don't..."

"Don't what?"

Cal stared at his hands. They were still shaking, like an echo of what had happened only a couple of minutes ago.

"But I told you," he murmured. "My feelings for him..."

"Like I said, that is unfortunate. But we can't dwell on it now."

"But I can't-"

"Yes.  _You can_."

The table shuddered, with a tremendous sound.

Cal shrank back, heart jumping into his mouth.

It took him a moment to realise that it was his father's fist, slammed in place in the middle of the table. It was a small wonder it didn't mark the oak.

Cal couldn't take his eyes off it, watching the way knuckles whitened and fingers coiled, like a silent threat.

" _Please_  try to use your brain, Caledon," Nathan said slowly. "And understand that this is a _family_  business. It cannot be passed down to one who won't carry on the family name," his fist coiled some more. "Much less because of one who chooses not to through acts of such...such...deviance and _filth_."

He leaned forward some more, the shade around his eyes seeming to darken.

"You understand me?"

Cal knew his father's voice when it was only the pretence of cool and collected. It was far more dangerous like that. He knew it because he'd inherited it himself.

And he knew it was easier just to be compliant, and nod his head.

His mouth turned, into a brittle smile.

"Of course. I understand."

"I'm glad you're beginning to grasp it," Nathan's attention returned to the paperwork. "Now. We can discuss further matters later, as I told you. Please tidy up this little upset in the meantime."

He waved a hand at the door.

Cal stood up stiffly. Even if he'd actually wanted to say anything else, his mind was already shattering and closing, into that numbed state. The fragmented dream that had never quite left him, not since last night.

Then he remembered the bottom drawer in the study. It cleared the fog, for just a bit.

"Goodbye, father."

_There was always tomorrow._

And it was tomorrow, after all.

 

 


	9. Nothing To Lose

_"Are you happy, Cal?"_

_"...yes..."_

_88_

_88_

Jack stared bleakly out the bedroom window.

It hadn't stopped raining all day, and the sky was becoming dark. Cal had not come home yet, and that shouldn't have been a problem (Jack wasn't the paranoid type), but today it was.

It'd seemed like things were getting better, too.

Last night had been a dream; like some startling reminder of every reason he'd fallen for Cal. It had always been so easy and thoughtless anyway, but last night Jack had remembered why he could travel across literal ocean wave and smoky city, to fancy dinner parties and potential scandal, all for one single person.

And he didn't mind it. It had been more exciting because of all that, in many ways.

Maybe Cal would disagree though, and maybe that was why he'd left the note.

' _I'd at least leave a note, first.'_

It had been sitting inconspicuous in the hallway, but still somehow glaringly obvious. Bardot had found it in the middle of the day and rushed it to Jack at once.

Jack had read it over and  _over,_ and each time only made his stomach sink some more. Made everything more confusing.

He thought he could've gotten used to Pittsburgh, too.

It wasn't New York, but that was fine. The smoke that blurred it's backdrop might have been a depressive cloud to some, but Jack was already warming to it. He could have warmed to anywhere, though.

It didn't matter where they were, he realised, so long as Cal was there.

"Perhaps he's just been held up by work, Mr. Dawson. His father has always been an old dragon when it comes to that sort of thing, you know."

Bardot stood in the bedroom doorway, wringing her hands and looking at Jack as if he was supposed to know what to do or say.

Jack was getting tired of it. He'd never known exactly what he was supposed to do or say about anything, though everybody else seemed to think otherwise. For a while he'd been trying to live up to that impossible expectation, perhaps.

He looked back out the window.

"He's not usually this late, is he?"

He read over Cal's neat cursive again, as if it would make any more sense.

 _'I'm sorry._ '

Not even a sign off or anything on the back of it. Cal had been unimaginative and cold like that.

Jack crumpled the paper back up.

" _I_ _diot_."

"Mr. Dawson," Bardot said. "Do you know where he might have gone?"

Jack tried to think. It was a futile effort, in the same way he tried to remember the way Cal had looked at him before he'd left that morning.

All he could really remember was Cal's smile. It was wonderful but accidental; happening far less often than Jack would have liked, so he always made special effort to remember it. Perhaps at the expense of everything else.

Maybe he had missed the truth of it, and maybe Cal wasn't really smiling at all. Maybe was still such a good liar after all.

' _Are you happy, Cal?'_

_'...yes.'_

Jack rubbed the heat from his eyes.

"I know nothing at all apparently, Mrs. Bardot."

He stood up, casting around for a creased jacket. The rest of yesterday's clothes were piled about the floor, in the same state he'd left them. All before his attention had fallen onto Cal, and then they'd fallen into bed together and forgotten the rest of the world for a while. It happened a few times.

Jack swallowed down the burn in his throat.

"I don't know what the hell he's thinking."

"Oh, but Mr. Hockley seemed awfully preoccupied this morning. I assumed he was just...oh  _dear_..." Bardot's voice edged into upset.

Jack placed a hand on her shoulder, understanding her regret.

"It's okay."

She blinked at him, her eyes seeming to become glossier.

"Oh. I'm  _so sorry,_  Mr. Dawson. How unprofessional of me...to get into such a state," she turned away, to the mess of the bedspread. "Rather like this bedroom, I should say..."

"You worry about him too, don't you?"

"Unfortunately," Bardot paused, in shaking off the quilt. "Oh. He is quite the inconsiderate devil, sometimes. The stories I could tell..."

Jack blinked at her, curiosity peaking.

"How long have you worked for him, Mrs. Bardot?"

"Long enough. I'm sure it's no surprise to you," Bardot sighed, dropping the quilt back on the bed. "You might have wondered how else I get away with my insubordinate tongue, sometimes."

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. To be honest I'm not sure how this 'master servant' business works. Not really my...thing, I guess."

Bardot laughed.

"Yes. I would suppose it isn't," she looked vaguely apologetic. "What I mean to say is, Mr. Dawson, I've known Caledon since he was so very young. It has been something of an...experience, I suppose, seeing him grow up, and get to this point."

"What point is that, Mrs. Bardot?"

Bardot smiled, but it was cautious, like she wasn't sure about Jack, or maybe about revealing her own thoughts to him.

"Mr. Dawson," she said slowly. "May I ask you an improper question? You don't need to tell me, if you feel I'm speaking out of line."

"Please, go ahead."

"Well. Do you truly care for Mr. Hockley, sir?"

Jack blinked at her. "I-"

"Don't get me wrong," she said quickly. "He's a very handsome man. But he's also set to inherit his millions. I'm sure you're very well aware of that. And considering your situation...as one with lesser means to live...Well," she looked awkward then. "I have to ask the obvious question. I do feel  _some_  obligation to Mr. Hockley, no matter how unbearable he might be. Some kind of maternal nonsense, if you like."

Jack nodded slowly. "Of course. I understand."

"He isn't much of a risk taker, you see," Bardot's smile faltered. "So you must realise, Mr. Dawson...just by your very _being_  here, and living in this house under the scrutiny of that  _difficult_  father of his..." she took a short breath. "...I do believe Cal has taken perhaps the biggest risk of his entire life."

She turned away, to gather up some more stray shirt ties.

"He must...he must think a  _great_  deal of you, Mr Dawson."

Jack stared at her back. His throat suddenly felt too tight.

Of course he'd always known that Cal was risking something, but it had all seemed so trivial. Reputation, pride and wealth; it all meant very little to Jack. Superfluous things that didn't matter much in the grand scheme of life.

But it all meant _so much_  to Cal.

Jack sat back down near the window.

"He told me he was happy. I thought he was."

He picked up the crumpled note again and pressed his head into his hands, closing his eyes.

"I don't..."

Bardot's hand caught his shoulder.

"He is happy," she said, and smiled faintly. You're obviously a good medicine for him. I see it in his face in the mornings. I see it in everything he does and says. Oh, he was such a  _miserable creature_ , before, Mr Dawson. If only you could have known him then to see it for yourself. To see what a difference you've made."

Jack stared at her. "Then why has he gone?"

Bardot's conviction barely faltered. But it did.

"He'll come back, Mr. Dawson."

Jack watched her pick up a few more discarded pieces of clothing, and then tut at the neck tie that had been neglected around the back of another chair. As she gathered everything up, probably to wash, her face feigned severity.

"He'd better come back, at any rate. I need to be sure my paycheck sees itself into next month, at _least_. He's always been rather generous like that, though."

Jack cracked a smile. "S'pose he can afford to be."

An unspoken mark of understanding settled between them. It was the resolute hope that their worst fears wouldn't be confirmed, and didn't need to be said. Whatever stupid thing Cal might have done, or whatever he planned or intended to do, was already perfectly understood and dreaded between them. Words were useless, now.

"Mr, Dawson," Bardot hesitated at the door. "Besides everything else, I would hope that Mr. Hockley realises how incredibly lucky he is to have you."

8

8

Jack replaced Cal's note on the bedside table, and walked out into the stretch of the hallway. It was pooled with darkness and he could hear rain still pattering on arched windows.

He was drawn to the study room. The door was ajar anyway, setting off an amber light, and tempting him toward it.

He'd never gone in without Cal already being there, and now he peered cautiously through the gloom, half expecting Cal to be sat diligent at that big oaken desk and writing out something very important and very meaningless, so far as Jack was concerned.

The room looked too lonely and oppressive now, and the desk was untidy; scattered with papers that were all scrawled with words that might as well have been in a foreign language. Jack scanned over them with little interest. There was nothing particularly telling about them; just work related figures and notes. An underlined digit here and there, and the occasional exclamation mark that indicated it was probably an important number. Jack could see the stress in the wave of the lines.

He wasn't sure what he hoped or expected he might find. It was all a desperate clutch at straws now, anyway.

He noticed the bottom desk drawer. It was already halfway open, and filed with dusty pieces of of paper. Jack knelt down to it, and it took a moment to realise the papers were letters.

The letter marked clearly from Cal's father was on top of them all, and the first line read like vitriol in print;

_'My disappointment is but a constant normality at this point, Caledon."_

Jack's stomach squeezed. An unsuspecting anger.

" _I would forgive the first discrepancy as an experiment. Nothing else. But your continued pursuits are beginning to grind, and more importantly, have the potential to taint. Please settle these affairs with haste. I will not warn you again."_

Jack flipped the letter over. It was dated only a few years earlier, and Cal had obviously seen reason to keep it.

Then Jack noticed the small photograph accompanying it.

Cal didn't look much different than he looked now; smartly dressed and in a well cut suit. He looked handsome, but in a way that suggested he was unaware of it. He was standing next to another young man. There was nothing to indicate their relationship, but Jack could see, even through the grain of the picture, that Cal's smile was real.

There was nothing else connected to the photograph, not even the scribble of a name on the back of it.

Jack replaced it very carefully. He didn't need to know anymore, and Nathan Hockley's vague but deliberate comments on paper, and at the recent dinner table, suddenly made much more sense. Or at least confirmed every suspicion Jack already had.

He understood perfectly well the inherent danger in admitting to a relationship with another man, but he'd never quite gotten to grips with labelling it as anything like that himself. He only knew that he wanted to be with Cal, and it didn't matter that he was another man. It just so happened that he was.

It was very simple, and a shame that Hockley senior might never see it that way.

Jack's chest hurt, and he wondered how it was that Cal hadn't already disappeared, long before all of this.

There were a few more letters, some of them marked from the Bukater's. Jack's conscience told him not to look at them, and he was soon interrupted anyway by the sounds of keys, tinkling downstairs in the hallway.

He got up in a rush.

"Cal-!"

8

8

The rain was dotting hard against the front door, and though the hallway was dark and stretched with shadow, Jack knew that it was Cal standing there.

His coat hung on him, soaked with water and dripping puddles around his feet.

"Dawson..."

Jack wanted to be relieved, but he was too furious for that.

He ran at Cal, hands finding and gripping around sodden coat collar; twisting and slamming it ferociously into the wall.

Cal gasped like he'd been winded, very close to Jack's neck.

".. _._ Jack... _please_ -"

" _Where did you go_?" Jack growled, and his voice crackled and broke up with it. "Where did you  _go_?!"

He shook Cal hard, and it was like trying to hold on to his own anger. There was a spiteful satisfaction in seeing Cal's face; paling into shock. Maybe he was even afraid of Jack, for a moment.

"...I didn't-" Cal started.

Jack crushed the rest of his words, turning them into a whimpered noise with the vehement heat of his own mouth.

The wall thumped as Cal's head connected with it, and his groan was muffled. Jack was only vaguely sorry, at the very back of his mind.

It didn't matter anyway; Cal opened his mouth easily for him, and Jack _attacked_  it, even as his anger was already draining away from him.

Cal didn't put up any sort of a fight. That was the problem, that was what made it more infuriating.

His hands only reached round, to find Jack, not to stop him.

"... _damn you_..." Jack cursed through another biting kiss, and Cal made a soft sound between pain and something else.

The heat was too intense, and Jack held him in place, pinning and wanting him more than he ever had before.

Their chests hitched together, only because the proximity was too much, in the same way everything else was. Jack could have laughed or cried or swore, or any other unwanted and unstoppable emotion in that moment.

Something was seeping into his bones. An exhausting wave of emotion, as clichéd as it was.

Then he realised what it was. He was just  _so relieved_.

His fingers uncurled slowly,  _reluctantly_ , from around sodden coat and skin, and he felt Cal's body slackening with the motion. Then the soft and shuddered sigh that joined it. A sound of actual relief.

"...Jack...I'm sorry..."

Jack bowed his head. "...damn you _,_  Cal..."

He glared at rainwater; glittering on Cal's pulsing and exposed neckline.

" _Damn you_."

It was a strange quiet that followed after them, only levitated by the rain, still rushing down into the entrance hall.

Finally, Cal spoke;

"Let's go, then."

Jack watched the slow swallow of his throat, detached in his confusion.

"...go where?"

 _"New York_ , of course. How else do I get you to shut up about the place?"

Jack stared at him, trying to find the trace of a joke. But he already knew Cal better than that.

Besides, Cal's smile was brittle and already fading away with his shaken laugh. There was an odd shine to his eyes, and he looked like he might do something unimaginable.

"...I-I...want to try..."

Then he bowed his head, voice quaking into a sob.

Jack clutched at his collar. "Cal-"

" _Don't_ ," Cal batted him off, and brushed an arm roughly over his face. "Please don't."

Jack hung back, only slightly and very reluctantly.

Cal's voice settled, into a soft and chiding scowl;

"...hah. How embarrassing."

Jack shook his head. "No, it isn't."

"You would say that."

" _I mean it_. Cry me an entire ocean if it makes you feel better. I don't care."

There was quiet between them for a short while. Jack's hands twitched, still wanting to grasp at a familiar heat, and remind himself that Cal was actually okay. But he held off.

Cal sneered at the ground, wiping his eyes again.

"...cry you an _ocean_? Don't be so absurd, Jack."

" _You're_  absurd."

"Hah."

A few more uneven breathes moved between them, before Cal looked at Jack again. His eyes glinted in the dark.

"I'm afraid I'm not very eloquent...not when it comes to these sorts of matters."

Jack nodded. "You're right about that. Totally useless, actually."

He pulled Cal back into a clinging and rough embrace, forgetting any pretence of caution. So what if Cal didn't like it.

He didn't want to let go, as tired as the sentiment might have been. Everything felt unreal; and beyond his relief he still couldn't really believe it.

He clutched at Cal's back, and felt breath shaking, close to his ear. Not quite a laugh, but close enough.

"...is that a yes to New York, then?"

" _Obviously_  it's a yes," Jack tipped his head back a fraction, so that they were looking at each other again. Jack could see the glossy tracks on Cal's cheeks. "What else would it be, you dummy?"

Cal's smile was braced.

"...I'm glad."

Jack laughed. "Well guess what?  _I'm_  gladder."

He kissed Cal delicately; an apologetic contrast to the fury that had found him minutes before. Cal sunk against the wall with immediate compliance, like he'd been waiting for it all along.

Jack slid his hands down, trailing the entire shape of him.

"Are you sure?"

"...you enjoy stupid questions, Dawson?"

Jack smiled through the kiss. He couldn't imagine what had brought Cal to such a wild decision, but he wasn't going to question it any more than he needed to.

Not for the moment.

Instead he just deepened the kiss, and found hands moving tentatively around his own back.

Cal laughed, through a breathless sound.

"...nothing to lose, anyway."

88

88

88

"Mr. Hockley, I have to say your methods of bearing good news leave something to be desired. I'm sure you do it solely to be cruel."

Bardot cracked open the bottle of wine and poured it out between bouts of tears and laughter. It happened as she alternated between scolding and congratulating Cal, all at an alarming rate.

"All this needless drama, just to tell me you're moving to  _New York_? "

"I'm sorry to have worried you," Cal said. "I had to sort out a few of the finer details first."

Bardot scoffed.

" _Worried me_? Oh, don't flatter yourself so much, Mr. Hockley. Though I'm rather glad to see you back in one piece, even if it is to mourn my last pay check."

"I'll write you a glowing reference, despite everything."

"You're far too kind."

"Don't look so surprised about it," Cal took a large shot of the wine, and looked at Jack. "I can be quite generous when I want to be."

Jack returned the smile over his own glass.

"I should say so," Bardot gave them both a withering look. "Though I suppose love will do silly things to people."

Cal visibly flushed around a scowl.

"Love? You're rather presumptuous, Mrs. Bardot. Of all the ridiculous things..."

Jack disguised a laugh around a cough, and took another sip of his drink.

"I merely say what I see," Bardot shrugged. "Well. I suppose I'd better start packing up my belongings, depending on when you want me out of here."

"There's no rush, Mrs. Bardot. You can stay until you find a new vacancy. We'll be leaving fairly swiftly, anyway."

"Will we?" Jack raised a curious brow.

"Well yes. The sooner the better."

"Very good, sir," Bardot reached out, and curled her hand onto Cal's. "But please  _do_  take care, won't you?"

Cal looked bewildered by the sudden urgency in her tone.

"Of course I will."

"Good," she nodded through a brief pause, and then without any warning at all, flung her arms around him.

Cal staggered back, but managed to stand still and awkward in the embrace. His hand reached round, to pat her equally as awkwardly on the back.

"There, there..."

Jack grinned at the sight of them both.

"I'm sorry, sir," Bardot said, through a short sob. "I'm just so _very_  happy for you. For  _both_  of you."

"Don't be so soppy," Cal scolded, but he still looked surprised. Even touched, perhaps. "You've had rather too much to drink, I suspect."

Bardot shook her head. "I suspect not."

She smiled between him and Jack.

"Goodnight, my dears."

Jack gave her a hug, and she murmured a 'thank you' that seemed to mean much more than that.

"She's very emotional," Cal said, when he seemed certain that Bardot had gone upstairs, and they were alone again. He replaced the wine glass on the table. "Typical woman."

Jack rolled his eyes, but decided not to point out Cal's own very glaring sensitivities.

"Do you think she's right?" he asked instead.

"About what?"

"About...saying what she sees. About us."

Cal scoffed. "It's not her business to wonder about. I certainly know that."

"Hm. I guess not."

Jack wasn't surprised by the answer, but he was still a bit disappointed.

"Cal-"

"I'm rather tired, Jack. Can we-"

"Have you told your father about New York?"

Cal's hand froze on the bottle of wine. "Is that very relevant to anything?"

"I don't know. He's your dad, and it's a big thing, isn't it?" Jack put his wine glass next to Cal's. "What about the family business? Are you still going into that?"

"I'm sorting all of it out. Don't worry about that."

"I'm not worried about _that_ ," Jack stepped closer, so the gap was small enough to notice the flash of apprehension in Cal's eyes. "I'm worried about other stuff."

"I told you not to."

"Well I can't help it."

Cal rolled his eyes. "Then please _try_ -"

"You left a  _note_ , Cal."

Cal's exasperated smile dropped.

He looked down at the wine glasses, and there was a beat of silence, as he frowned at them. "That was a mistake."

Jack's heart met his mouth.

"Cal...were you really sorting out the 'finer details' today? Or was it something else? Please, I need to know. Where...where did you go?"

Cal's smile tightened.

He cleared his throat and picked up his wine glass again, angling it at the light and looking at it with considerable disdain.

"Did you know, this wine was supposed to be reserved?"

Jack shook his head. "I didn't."

"Well it was. For a very specific occasion, actually."

"Oh? What was that, then?"

"The 'Hockley and Bukater wedding service'," Cal's mouth became a sneer. "My father bought it. I'm not sure where he got it from, but he kept raving on and  _on_  about how expensive and luxurious it was. So I saved it, just for that  _damned_  wedding. Joke's on him now, isn't it?"

Jack hesitated. "Cal, this isn't-"

"It doesn't taste very special either, does it?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never been much of a wine connoisseur, Cal."

"No, I suppose not," Cal swilled the glass around. He downed the rest of it with a sharp tilt of his head. "But I can assure you, it isn't that special at all. Very underwhelming."

"I'll have to take your word for it."

"Suppose you will, Dawson. To think my father wasted so much money on something so disappointing."

Jack noticed the bruised line of Cal's arcing mouth with a sudden guilt. Flickering and recent memories of his own anger in a dark hallway, manoeuvred around a violent and desperate kiss.

"Cal. I didn't mean to get so angry with you," Jack took a swallowed breath. "I just...I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if you ever did something stupid. All because of me."

Cal's smile quivered.

"What are you talking about, Dawson? Are you having second thoughts already?"

"Of course not," Jack pulled Cal's hand into his own. "It's just a bit crazy, you know. Going to New York...so suddenly."

"I thought you embraced things like that. Spur of the moment... _live_  in the moment, sorts of things," Cal looked at him expectantly. "Seems like your sort of nonsense, doesn't it?"

Jack felt himself smiling again. "Yeah, I guess it does."

"You think I've lost my mind, don't you?" Cal laughed. "Well. Perhaps I have. And yes, it probably  _is_  crazy _._ "

Jack blinked at him, and his smile broadened.

_I do believe Cal has taken perhaps the biggest risk of his entire life._

Suddenly Bardot's words had far more weight and meaning than they ever had before, and Jack knew that Cal was still terrified.

Cal still looked determined, though, despite the contradictory shake in his words.

"But I want to do this, Jack. If you still want to, obviously."

Jack pressed a hand on Cal's chest, finding the harsh thunder of a heartbeat, and it was like the risk had been made flesh and tangible for the first time.

" _Obviously_  I do, Cal."

He pressed closer, feeling more than hearing breath hitching near his own.

"And if you really want to, then we'll go, Cal."

"I really want to," Cal said at once, and sunk back against the table. "Now shut up and kiss me."

The wine bottle fell and rolled across it, spilling the rest of it's contents, as the gap between their mouths closed.

It wasn't quite a happy end, Jack knew it. But he thought that it might be a good enough beginning.

It might have been too bleak in some ways, but for now he could feel Cal, and he was  _alive_ , and that was something _._

_Nothing to lose, anyway._

Jack smiled, as Cal moaned beneath him.

Besides, New York was still waiting for them.

 

 


	10. Room with a View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: so now we enter into part 2 and New York with Jack's POV! This may be more light-hearted in tone, and a little more sentimental too.
> 
> May also include a cat.

"So. What do you think?"

Jack looked around the room again. "Yeah. I like it."

The mid-June sun was streaming across the balcony and through the tallest window, right in front of Cal. The sunlight spotlighted dust on the wooden flooring and caught the soft edges of too many unpacked boxes. It even managed to reach the confides of the kitchen, complete with small stove and sink.

It was a modest little apartment, but equally as perfect.

"You  _like_  it?" Cal repeated, as if he was experimenting with a disgusting phrase. He turned away from the window, and looked at Jack with an equally disgusted face. "Just say it. You hate it."

Jack rolled his eyes.

"No. Actually I  _love_  it."

"Hm. It's adequate, I suppose," Cal peered out the window again, lip curling. "I hope we don't have any problem-neighbours. The view isn't anything special, either."

Jack grinned at Cal's ruler-straight back.

"I think it's a great view, personally."

He walked over, very tentative in his motions. The way someone might approach a wild animal, and slid hands onto tensed shoulders.

Cal's stance didn't change- he didn't even turn his head to acknowledge it- but Jack could see the clench of his jaw in profile, and the white shade of his knuckles on the window sill.

The move was always going to be stressful. And it had all happened very quickly.

Cal had exchanged a few diced words and numbers with a man in a suit, and Mrs. Bardot had shed some more tears and wished them all the best. Then they were suddenly in New York, viewing apartments as if it were all very normal.

Oft times Cal referred to Jack as his 'business partner', even if the question wasn't up for debate. Jack didn't mind; he could go along with it if it made Cal feel better, though it was a shame.

" _Careful_ ," Cal shrugged Jack's hands away, and stepped back from the window. "Someone might see us."

"Too bad."

"I'm serious," Cal frowned. "Are you sure you like it? There's still one more apartment available, you know. It's a few blocks along, and the balcony looks a lot larger. I heard that-"

Jack laughed. "This is _fine_ , Cal. I promise. Besides, you're never gonna be satisfied with  _anything_ we look at."

"That isn't true."

"It is. You want the best of everything."

Cal huffed. "I only want the best for you."

It must have been an unplanned confession, because Cal hurried to the other side of the apartment, kneeling down to some boxes with a petulant and pinkish face. He seemed unable to look at Jack for some long moments.

"I suppose I can sell some of this stuff off. Quite the unfortunate downsize though."

Jack grinned. "Unfortunately there aren't too many manor houses in central New York, Cal."

"I know. _Tragic_ , isn't it?"

"Maybe you can send some of it back to your father."

Cal sneered. "Is that your idea of a joke?"

"I guess it is," Jack knelt down, so that they were at eye level. "Can you forgive me for it?"

He followed the line of Cal's mouth, as it became a proper smile again.

"Hm. You're forgiven, Dawson. Barely."

There had been little mention of the situation with Hockley senior. With everything happening so rapidly, there simply hadn't been much time to dwell on it. But Jack hadn't forgotten about the letter and the photograph in the drawer, and all the implications that went with it.

"Cal, does your father-"

"I don't need half these things," Cal interrupted. He pulled open a large box, and grimaced at the contents. "What an ugly vase. I don't even know how it came into my possession."

Jack peered into the box, pretending the vase was more interesting. It was definitely an acquired taste; big splodges of vibrant orange and green paint, like someone might have thrown up on it. Jack smirked.

"Maybe Mrs. Bardot packed it as a joke."

Cal nodded. "Yes. She does share your awful sense of humour, doesn't she?"

"Hah. I bet you miss her."

 _"Hardly_. Anyway, I think she'll miss you more than anything."

"I'll miss her too," Jack considered, and shuffled close enough to Cal. "But I won't miss all her badly timed interruptions."

Cal looked confused.

"Interruptions?"

"Yeah," Jack smiled as he leaned in, happy to elaborate.

The kiss lingered, with a warmth that seemed to cover the entirety of the bare bones apartment. Cal always felt so soft and compliant, and Jack knew then that he could have lived here, and within such a moment  _forever,_  if he had to. No qualms about that.

Then Cal pulled away, revealing an uncertain emotion. It reminded Jack that Cal was still in such a fragile limbo, and maybe he might still quit after all.

"Are you okay?" Jack asked, pretending it didn't matter.

Cal nodded shortly, and then cleared his throat.

"Do you know," he said conversationally, "I think Bardot was actually in love with you, Dawson. Like everyone else that has ever encountered you."

"Except your father, of course. I don't think he likes me at all."

"My father is the exception. He doesn't like anyone," Cal's smile became wry. "Rather like me, actually."

Jack snorted. "You're nothing like him, Cal."

"Oh? You don't think so?"

"Well. You do like  _some_  people. You like _me_ , don't you?"

"Hm. You're an exception too."

Jack smiled. "I like being an exception."

He curled his hand around the back of Cal's head, wanting to kiss him again. His other hand roamed, unable to help himself, onto taut chest.

Cal rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

"Wait till we've got a damn bed at least, Dawson."

"Who needs a bed?"

"Jack-"

The barred light of the sun crossing Cal's face was soon blocked out, as Jack bridged the gap between them. Cal's murmurs turned into laughter, and he slipped the rest of the way down onto the floor.

"This isn't very comfortable..." he complained, and then trailed off, as Jack tasted his neck. Jack felt the sharp rise of his chest. "...damn it, Jack..."

Only encouraged, Jack trailed a hand slowly along the line of a leg.

"Pretty sure we can manage without a bed for now, don't you?"

Cal scowled. "It's too dusty and dirty..."

And then he scrabbled to reach around Jack's back, contrary to his irritated words.

"We can always stop if you like..." Jack suggested.

The press of stomach became harder, and then he noticed Cal's other hand, whitening and grasping at the floor. A braced shake of breath followed after.

But this was the sort of tension that didn't ever warrant concern, and it always made Jack's heart thud much faster. It was exciting, like that.

And his fingers easily found skin, prickling beneath fabric.

Cal gasped.

"...don't...don't tease, Jack."

Jack covered his hand with his own, and hushed him.

"I won't."

88

88

Jack placed the ugly vase in the middle of the window sill, where it refracted light and made him laugh whenever Cal scowled and threatened to throw it out the window.

A sandy-coloured stray cat seemed to share Cal's sentiment, and it became as ornamental as the vase itself. Swishing it's tale and threatening to knock the vase off every morning, as a few days turned into a week in the apartment building.

Within that week, a routine was beginning to form, and it mostly involved Cal on some mission in a smart suit and briefcase every morning, though he negated to tell Jack what it was all about. He always looked distracted and out of sorts in the morning, and by evening he seemed too tired and tight-lipped about whatever he'd been up to.

Mostly Jack just let him get on with it. He was happy to explore the neighbouring streets by himself for the moment. He'd already gotten to know some of the neighbours; an elderly man in a top hat with holes in it, a red headed girl who seemed to know the area like the back of her hand, and a young couple who were pleasant enough and had already asked Jack to join them for dinner a couple of evenings in a row now. They hadn't asked Cal because he was generally good at avoiding people, so Jack was starting to learn.

Between times, Jack sketched and sketched. Scribbles of the city people, slowly turning into proper drawings. He'd managed to sell a few of them already. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. He'd even noticed Cal looking at the drawings, perhaps when he thought that Jack wasn't looking. He never said anything about them, but he always looked at them with an interest that made Jack want to carry on drawing.

"I have an idea," Cal announced, as he walked into the apartment that evening. He dropped some bags on the kitchen counter top and then glared at the window. "Have you been feeding that damn cat again? It's probably got fleas, you know."

Jack looked up from his drawing.

"I've called it Skitty," he moved to pet the cat, and it flinched away but didn't leave. "Because it's terrified of everything."

" _Wonderful_. And yet it still comes here," Cal opened one of the bags and spilled the contents out onto the counter with a suspicious face. ""So, I was thinking; you might sell your drawings at an art gallery. Do you think this is very edible, by the way?"

Jack set aside his sketchbook. "What?"

"This...beetroot. Whatever it is. I don't know. I just picked it up on the way home."

"An art gallery?" Jack repeated blankly.

"There are plenty here, so I've noticed. I could even fund it for you. Perfect for...arty types, like yourself," Cal picked up the beetroot with a morose face. "I've never done food shopping before in my life. This is awful."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. It's embarrassing, isn't it? I didn't even know what a beetroot looked like-"

"Would you come to the art gallery?" Jack stood up, right in front of Cal.

Cal looked surprised by the question.

"...I suppose I'd have to at least make an appearance, wouldn't I? Moral support and all that."

"I'd be sure to thank you for it," Jack kissed him on the mouth, and felt the tremble of a smile there.

"...well. How can I refuse that?"

Jack returned the smile, around another kiss. "Let me take you out."

"What?" Cal laughed at him. " _Where_?"

"Anywhere you like. This is New York, after all. Come on, let's go."

" _Now?!_  But we-"

"Look. We've not been out together since we got here. An _entire week_."

"I..." Cal looked round at the counter, seeming to flounder. "But I got us  _food_. Like a  _normal_  person..."

Jack laughed. "And I'm very proud of you, but this is my treat. We can see some of the sights together at last."

Cal tilted his head, in a motion that Jack had come to recognise as apprehension. He could understand it.

"Don't worry, Cal. Nobody will know."

"I'm not worried," Cal said quickly. "I just..." his shoulders sagged.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Cal reached out, hand hovering on Jack's shirt collar. He straightened it with a faint smile. "...it doesn't matter."

Jack's chest clenched, and he wanted to tell Cal just how much everything mattered. But Cal probably wouldn't want to hear such sentiment, anyway.

He was doing such a good job from the point of view of anyone else. But the jolt of the situation must have been one which was still occasionally shocking him in tremendous waves, still taking him by surprise.

And Jack had not missed the way Cal tossed and turned in bed, and the dark circles around his eyes in the morning.

Jack gripped his hand.

"We'll have a good time. I promise."

Cal stared at him. "You don't need to pay me back or anything. If that's what this is."

Jack scoffed. "As if I ever could. I just want to give you a break from your attempted grocery shopping, that's all."

"Is it that bad?"

"No. But how many more soups can we endure before we turn into one?"

Cal's smile cracked into a grin.

"You have a fair point there."

8

8

"This was a mistake," Cal said.

He looked too pale and aghast; eyes flashing a paranoia that Jack recognised only from moments at the dinner table with Hockley senior.

"It's fine," Jack said. "Stop panicking."

"I'm  _not_  panicking," Cal insisted, and seemed to pale some more, as a woman brushed past their table. Her eyes barely flitted over them, but Cal reacted with a murmured curse. "Definitely a mistake."

Jack had picked it. The diner had looked very appealing from the outside; cute and understated, with an attractive pastel-orange paint-sign, welcoming most anyone into it for an evening meal.

They had sat and ordered between them, before the diner had gradually started to fill and they were soon surrounded by couples. Hands reaching across tables, heads tilted forwards and staring into each others eyes, as if nothing else existed.

"We're in a _dating_  diner, Jack," Cal said through his teeth. "How did this happen?"

Jack shrugged, and bit into his burger. "I don't know. It's kind of fitting, though."

"What do you mean?"

"We're 'dating', aren't we?"

Cal set his knife and fork down. He'd barely touched his food anyway. "It isn't the same. You know it isn't."

"How isn't it? What's the difference ?"

"You _know_  very well what the difference is," Cal started to pull on his coat. "Dawson, we have to go-"

"No," Jack grabbed Cal's sleeve, before he could stand. He was surprised by his own sudden insistence.  _"Please,_ Cal _._ "

"... _Jack_..."

"We're only _eating_. That's all it is."

Cal blinked, and Jack could almost see his mind reeling in front of him; the battle between diligence and emotion always so close the surface. Jack sat with his heart in his mouth, and then Cal slowly shrugged his coat off again.

" _Fine_ ," he said begrudgingly. "Just hurry up and eat."

He didn't pick up his cutlery, and glared out the window.

Jack sighed.

Perhaps it had all been wishful thinking, after all. It had been different back in Pittsburgh.

In a way, they'd been in their own little bubble there. High society was terribly judgemental and came with it's own countless sets of problems, however privileged it might have been, but it was also entirely _separate_  from the real world.

A dinner party with the ruling classes did not equate with a simple meal in downtown New York, where anybody could potentially judge them and pass comment. Obviously Jack didn't care about that, but Cal was different.

And now he looked uncomfortable in a way that made Jack both sorry and frustrated.

"I know what you're thinking," Cal said dully. His gaze didn't leave the window. "I know I'm a snob."

Jack shook his head.

"I wasn't thinking that at all,"

Cal raised a brow. "Then what?"

"I was thinking about how I wish we could have some sort of  _normal_  life, like everyone else in here. That's all I want."

"You're too optimistic," Cal said, and his smile was forced. "I'm ruining this already, aren't I?"

"No, you're not."

Jack reached across the table, but thought better of it at the last second. He picked up the drinks menu instead.

Cal retracted his hand anyway. He looked painfully conflicted.

"I'm sorry, Jack-"

A waiter reached the table in the same moment, and held up a pad of paper and pencil.

"Drinks?"

Cal cleared his throat. "Uh. We're here on business."

" _Important_ business," Jack added.

"I see," the waiter looked disinterested. "So. Anything else, sirs?"

"Erm," Jack stared at the menu.

He could already imagine Cal was pulling out his wallet and throwing money in the waiter's face, before they made the quickest and most suspicious getaway in the history of a date disguised as anything but a date.

"We'll have a drink," Cal said. "I know I certainly need it."

Jack blinked up, shocked and pleased to see Cal's mouth arcing into a smirk.

8

8

8

"I'm not a cat person. I don't know why you'd even think it."

"I think you are, secretly."

"What does that even mean, Dawson? I go looking for strays in the middle of the night, solely to pet them?"

Jack laughed. "I wasn't thinking that, but now you've got me all suspicious."

The sky was dimming from pastel-pink to blue as evening turned into night, and the orange light of the diner flashed and reflected onto windows across the road. It looked pretty and fuzzed with the influence of alcohol, as they stepped outside into warm night air.

"I don't like cats, and I especially don't like cats you've named Skitty that you insist on feeding your leftovers every morning. That is the worst kind of cats."

"Skitty will be heartbroken," Jack said.

"Oh, how lamentable," Cal turned back round to look at the diner. His cheeks were flushed and strands of hair were in his eyes. He looked unkempt, but in a good way, and he was still smiling. "I'm picking the next place we eat at, Dawson. I _swear_."

"Sure," Jack grinned. "And you never know. One day you might laugh about all this. Could take a few years, but you might."

"A 'few years'?" Cal placed a hand on Jack's shoulder, as he caught his staggering balance. "That's not even mildly comforting."

"Well. I wouldn't mind coming back here. And I think the waiter enjoyed that obnoxious tip you gave him. It must have felt like all his birthdays had come at once."

Cal looked sheepish. "I've been very thoughtless, haven't I?"

"I don't know," Jack shrugged. "I like it when you don't think so much."

Cal seemed to hesitate. "I do too. I mean...I like not thinking about...pointless things," he blinked slowly at Jack. "You understand?"

Jack wanted to laugh. "Yeah, I think so."

"...good," Cal teetered a bit, and his hand twitched on Jack's shoulder, but didn't move away.

Jack grasped his arm properly, worried he might actually fall down.

"You okay?"

Cal nodded, and then rubbed his head with a soft groan.

"I think I drank too much."

"Heh. I do too," Jack moved his arm the rest of the way around Cal's back. "Let's go home."

The streets were dotted with the lights of various late night diners, cafes and clubs, all flashing welcome signs of temptation; so many colours merging with Jack's blurry vision. It wasn't a terrible sensation at all; more like wading through a surreal dream, with the heat of another so close that they could have been holding hands, or onto each other.

If only they could.

"It's quite nice really, isn't it?" Cal said suddenly. He stopped in the middle of the street, and his eyes lit up on the apartment just a few yards ahead of them. "Looks better at night...a room with a view."

Jack followed his gaze to the very top of the building. He'd seen it from this angle a few times now, but for some reason it was far more attractive when they were looking at it together.

"You really think so?"

"Yes, of course," Cal spoke without hesitation. Then he dug into his jacket, pulling out a cigarette. There was a beat of silence as he lit up. "I think you're wrong by the way, Dawson."

"Oh? About what?"

"About  _anything_  being possible in New York. That's just puerile and wishful thinking. Not that I'd expect any less from Jack 'chipper' Dawson."

Jack pulled the cigarette from Cal's mouth, and took a drag for himself.

"You're a real party-pooper, Cal."

Cal shook his head.

"I mean, it doesn't matter where the hell you are really, does it? New York... _Pittsburgh_. It's all the same," his eyes narrowed, as if he was having a reluctant epiphany. "It means nothing at all...not without...not without some good company."

He snatched the cigarette back.

Jack smirked at him. "Am I good company, then?"

"Hah," Cal averted his eyes, the quivered line of his mouth telling enough without words.

Jack returned the smile.

It would have been far easier just to kiss Cal in that instant, but then it would have meant missing the flash in his eyes; lovely dark pools, if Jack was feeling overly romantic about it. And he always did.

He held off, though.

"You know, I think you talk a lot more sense when you're drunk, Cal."

"How insulting," Cal said. He looked flattered.

They stood side by side in an easy quiet for a while, although it wasn't really quiet at all.

There were the sounds of the living all around them; countless rows of yellowed windows lighting up unending buildings, the occasional horse and carriage and the odd automobile rolling by every so often. Anyone could have been watching them.

And still Jack felt a hand delicately brushing his own, if not quite holding it.

"What do you think, then?" Cal asked, in a much softer tone.

"About what?"

"The art gallery."

"Oh," Jack blinked out of a sort of daze. "You mean...to show my drawings there?"

Cal made an exasperated sound. "That's the idea. And then everyone else can see how talented you are. Think about it. Lord knows I can't do  _all_  the work, Dawson."

Jack smiled. He gripped Cal's hand, for just a tiny moment.

"Alright. But tell me I'm good company first."

Cal slowly inclined his head, and stubbed his cigarette out on the floor. He looked at Jack, mouth curving and eyes seeming to flash a subtle coyness under lamplight. Though it could have been just the deceptive effects of alcohol.

"Why don't I prove it, Dawson, when we get home?"

88

88

88

It was the first morning in the apartment that Jack woke up to an empty bed.

He immediately grappled at bed sheets and panicked about Cal's sudden non-existence; a thousand terrible thoughts rushing through his mind all at once.

Then he noticed the note on the bedside cabinet and panicked some more, before he read it.

' _Gone for interview. Cal.'_

Jack swore, and then stretched with indulgent and incredible relief, before remembering the blur of last night with an even broader smile.

The sensations were still so vivid in his memory, and the entire night seemed to exist only to assure and promise him that he was indeed good company after all. Unfinished vulnerable words and  _moans_ , accompanying the marks of more vulnerable skin. Jack could have marked and bruised every inch of it. He just couldn't help himself.

And anyway, Cal was very good at indicating how much he  _did_  want it, in such impassioned moments.

Still, he must have had an ungodly struggle getting up that morning.

Jack sighed, and wished that Cal could tell him about job interviews and whatever else he did in that expensive suit of his, whenever he wasn't at home.

"Oh well," Jack folded up the note. "Could be worse."

He'd barely finished breakfast, and was throwing scraps of food out the window to the mewling cat, when there was a knock at the door.

Jack opened it, and rubbed his eyes.

He thought he was having a strange dream. Or maybe he was still a bit drunk.

"Hello, Jack," said Rose Bukater.

 


	11. Disruption

* * *

“I still find it quite difficult to believe, Jack.”

“Sometimes I don't believe it. Well, most of the time, really.”

Rose laughed, but it was edged with that disbelief again. She kept looking at Jack as if he might be a ghost, or a figment of her own imagination.

Jack felt much the same when he looked at her. 

There was an affection there and he couldn't deny it. She looked beautiful; her face was glowing with an aura of confidence that seemed to have bloomed all the more since their brief encounter on the Titanic, and her words had become more pronounced and laced with a determination Jack was fond of. 

Jack couldn't pretend he'd ever known Rose that well at all, but he'd seen enough to tie a few things together, and work things out for himself. 

Between Rose and Cal, Jack knew that high society living wasn't all it'd cracked up to be, and perhaps it was it's own special brand of hell. A privilege that in turn sacrificed a certain kind of freedom, but it seemed that Rose had finally cut herself free of some of the shackles, at least.

“Does your mother know you're here?”

Rose shook her head.

“She has no idea where I am, Jack. It's quite wonderful, really,” she laughed again, and her red hair seemed to burn with the rays of sun that cast through the window. “I've been living the rootless lifestyle. You've been a bad influence on me.”

Jack smirked. “I've been a bad influence on the both of you, apparently.”

“It seems so, doesn't it?” Rose's smile diminished a bit. 

The subject of Cal hadn't been broached until that very moment. In between joyous exclamations, embraces and harmless small talk, it had just been waiting there, like the awkward elephant in the room. Unspoken but known between them. 

“Where is he?” she asked, in a much quieter voice.

“He's out,” Jack hesitated. “Gone for an interview, so far as I know, anyway. He doesn't tell me much about that sort of thing. Still finding our feet, I guess.”

Rose nodded very slightly. "I remember, Cal was always very driven like that. He didn't switch off very easily. But then neither of us did."

She glanced at the floor, as if she'd said something indecent.

“Well, I can see you've gotten yourself settled into quite a beautiful little place, here," she took a breath, as if exhaling a troubled memory.  "Just like you always wanted?"

 "Yeah," Jack nodded, realising in that very moment that he meant it. "It's been pretty wild. And thinking about everything that Cal’s done for me..."

He trailed off, suddenly feeling like he'd revealed something a little too intimate, and perhaps Rose didn't want to hear about that anyway.

But Rose only nodded, her expression entirely neutral. 

“It sounds like Cal has come a long way,” she said, after a moment. 

“Yeah. I think so."

There was another pause, like contemplation between them.

Jack stood up quickly, to make another coffee.

“So, what brings you to New York, anyway?”

Rose smiled a bit. “Isn't seeing you reason enough?”

“Hah. Now you're just being cute.”

“Well, if you must know, I do have my reasons. I'm not completely reckless, you know.”

“I figured,” Jack looked at her with an easy grin. “So you've got a plan, then?”

“Yes, well. Silver screen related plans, actually,”

"Ah, now I remember. Hollywood awaits!"

"I'm not sure about that, yet. But I want to try," Rose's smile quirked into a frown, and she sighed. “And it's not something I can really back out of now, is it? I can't face going back to my dear mother. I'd much rather die."

“A little dramatic, isn't it?” another voice dead-panned.

Jack and Rose turned in sharp unison to the doorway.

Cal was standing there, his smile transparent and testing.

“Hello, Rose,” he said abruptly, and dropped his briefcase on the floor. “So, what brings you back into our lives?”

Rose stared at him, her eyes seeming to glitter and her mouth parting slightly, as if she'd been internally winded by his very presence. It wasn't anything like awe, nor was it even fear. It was just plain and utter shock.

“Cal," she cleared her throat, and stood up quickly." I didn't mean to drop in so unannounced. I heard you were both living here. So I thought I'd pay a visit, since I was in town anyway.”

She extended a hand out to him, but he just stared between her and Jack, his smile not relaxing. 

Then he turned to glare out the window.

“Well, seems you've paid your visit. You can probably leave now, I should think.”

“ _Cal_ ,” Jack looked at him in some surprise. “What's wrong with you?”

Cal offered him a scathing look; one which was quite foreign to Jack these days, but it was the sort that reminded him of their first encounters on the Titanic, and in turn reminded him of the precarious line Cal still balanced; between a terrible human or else someone trying their best to be better than that.

Right now, he seemed to be the embodiment of the terrible human.

“Nothings wrong with him,” Rose said, her glare matching Cal's as she dropped her hand. “He's the same as he always was,” then she turned to Jack, her smile steadying some more. “It was nice to see you again.”

“Rose-”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Cal looked at her, with a spiteful interest. “‘Same as I always was’? Care to elaborate?”

“You know what it means,” Rose's tone was almost dangerous, and the air seemed to have become thick with tension around them. “And here I was considering some actual _concern_ for you. Of all the absurd ideas.”

Cal laughed. “Why bother yourself with feelings now, Rose? You certainly never did when we were together.”

“Well, it's rather difficult to find common ground with an ass.”

Jack took an unconscious step forward, like the reluctant referee to inevitable confrontation.

“Please, can we just...”

Cal's smile tightened. “I wonder, Rose. Have you seen anything of your mother recently?”

“What does that matter to you?”

“No reason. She just seems to be occupying her time in other peoples business recently," Cal's smile quivered.  "I don't know, perhaps she got bored? Especially since you're not around to cause her trouble anymore, apparently.”

Rose's expression slipped into a pitying sort of amusement.

“Oh, _Cal._ You think she'd risk potential scandal for the likes of you? That isn't going to happen. Reputation takes precedence over everything else in the end. It always does," her voice became as cold and severe as her glare. "I would have thought you'd know that better than anyone.”

Cal's sneer flickered, almost falling away, and perhaps he looked paler than Jack remembered. But he seemed to compose himself quickly enough.

His lip curled.

“Who told you where we live, anyway?”

“Your previous housekeeper, if you must know,” Rose said, with disinterest. “As much as I've _tried_ to empty my mind of most things associated with you, I still remember where you used to live, Cal. I'm not that useless.”

Cal turned away with a scowl.

“... _ridiculous_. Trust Bardot...”

“She was very nice to me. I remember her quite well, actually,” a misted expression seemed to cross Rose's features, for just a moment. “She always seemed to think better of you than most people. I can't imagine why.”

“Wonderful. Didn't I say you could leave, now?”

"I don't recall saying I would."

Jack took a step closer to them both, very doubtful that Rose would listen to Cal (or himself, for that matter) at all. It would all end very badly if things got much more personal.

But Rose turned to Jack with a sweeter face, and she gripped his hand.

“Like I said, it was nice to see you again.”

Jack dithered, uncertain whether he should or had any right to protest her leaving. But Rose marched to the door, her violet coloured dress flowing with the motion, and inarguable as everything else about her.

She didn't look upset, but she did look back at Jack with some concern.

“I hope you're happy, Jack,” she said very genuinely. “And I hope Cal can make you happy.”

Jack opened his mouth, and it was dry with unspoken words. There were so many things he wished that she could know, and that he wanted to tell her. About _everything_ , and the fact that the Cal she had encountered seemed to be some sort of alien imposter.

He'd shown them both up, and for a minute Jack could have wondered about what he saw in Cal too.

“Are you both quite finished?” Cal said, in a sharp voice. “I thought you were leaving?”

“Take care, Rose,” Jack leaned forward, and kissed her on the cheek.

“See you.”

 

8

8

 

Jack clipped the door shut, and turned back round to face the room with an angry surge in his chest.

Cal was standing with his back to him, slightly hunched over the sink. His arms rested either side of it, clutching at it with white knuckled hands, like he might be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He didn't need to say anything; Jack could already see the tension wrung and quivering all over his body.

“Jack,” Cal started anyway, in a softer voice. “I need to tell you-”

“What the hell was that?” Jack snapped at him. He grappled the edge of the kitchen counter, if only to contain his want to grab Cal himself. “Why would you speak to her like that?”

Cal laughed, and it was short and and forced.

He shook his head, more to himself.

“And how am I supposed to speak to her? I walk in and find you both sitting there, talking and laughing...what am I supposed to _think_?”

"Supposed to think? I don't know...that we're having a conversation? Like a _normal_ person might?" Jack grasped Cal's arm, wrenching him round to face him, unable to help his frustration. "What the hell else would we be doing, Cal?"

Cal shrugged away from his hold, and his eyes became hard. "I saw the way she looked at you, Jack. The way you looked at her. It's _obvious_."

Jack dropped his hand, feeling the tension fall away as he realised the ludicrous implications in Cal's words, and his expression. 

"You think...you think I fucked her?"

Cal seemed to flinch. He glared up at the ceiling, as if he'd been embarrassed.

“Don't be so uncouth, Jack.”

“Isn't that what you're saying?” Jack laughed, but it was embittered in his own ears. “You really think I'd do that? You think I'm that kind of person?”

“I didn't say that...”

“No, but you'd _think_ it.”

Cal turned slowly to look at him, and within his gaze Jack saw the doubt lingering there. Like he couldn't physically deny it, and it was a punch to the gut, in more ways than one.

He couldn't stand that Cal might think that of him, but more than that, he couldn't stand that Cal might be so afraid that it could happen in the first place, after all that they'd been through together. 

“Dawson, I don't-”

“ _Jesus_...” Jack shook his head.

He made a beeline for the door, and didn't look back.

“Jack, _wait_ -”

Cal's voice faded away, and Jack didn't think about the consequences, or much of anything, as he exited the apartment building, and ran out into the street.

Rose was standing there at the corner. She waved to him, and he ran to meet her.

88

88

88

“He's no picnic, is he?” said Rose.

The sun was dipping behind a jagged and warm-orange horizon of buildings, before Jack realised time had gotten away with him. He'd spent the better part of the day trying to understand Cal, and to somebody else entirely.

And to _Rose_ of all people. She didn't really deserve that. 

Still, anger had dissipated, because Jack realised he couldn't stay very annoyed at Cal for very long now. It didn't matter what he said, or however he justified it, he'd already accepted a long time ago; Cal was never going to be very easy to have any sort of relationship with. Rose herself was proof of that.  

They sat in a little coffee shop together, and she listened very intently, her expression not giving away anything at all, no matter what Jack might tell her.

He didn't need to say very much, she seemed have a good idea as it was. 

Rose knew Cal, arguably even better than himself in some ways. She'd been _engaged_ to the man after all, and she knew him on a different sort of level.

"I was hoping he'd think better of me than this," Jack admitted, morosely. 

"He's insecure, that's what it is," Rose said, and stubbed out a cigarette. "And he doesn't like when he's not in control." 

“Is he so insecure that he doesn't trust me? So much has already happened, Rose. Why would he act like this?"

Rose's smile was weak. “I don't think it's about you, Jack.”

“Then does he blame you? Because if he does-”

Rose raised a hand, for some beseeching silence.

“It's nothing to do with either of us, believe me,” Rose sighed shortly. She adjusted her dress and smoothed a hand through her hair, as if weighing up some words in her mind with torturous precision. “Listen Jack, you already have an idea of what it's like, surely?"

Jack didn't understand. "An idea about what?"

Rose cleared her throat.

"As awful as it is to admit, I do understand his distress," she looked at Jack with a frown.  "Cal and I...we come from the same ilk, if you like. The same _preposterous_ family pressures and expectations, that build you up into this...this _monster_ of a person. You become immune to too many things, and sometimes you never find your way out of that state of being. It just _becomes_ you. Or you become it. Whatever it is, it's not very appealing.”

Jack stared ahead, absently watching the crowds move into rush hour, as Rose’s words began to sink in. 

“...I-I know Cal isn't perfect, not by a long shot. And I know he can be pretty awful, sometimes. But _Rose_...he's not a monster. I know that he's better than that, I've _seen_ it,” he looked at her with a hopeful face. “You doubted yourself too, but you still managed to break away from them. From that _life_.”

“Only because of you,” then Rose seemed to consider. "Maybe there is hope for him, after all. You do have a habit of trying to corrupt high society, don't you?”

Jack grinned faintly. “I just like to shake things up a bit, that's all.”

“You certainly shook my mother up.”

Jack felt his smile drop.

“Rose. Do you know what's been happening? I mean, between Cal and your mother?”

Rose shook her head.

"I wasn't even aware they were still in contact. I don't have much interest in my mother's affairs at the moment, you might have noticed.”

“Well,” Jack hesitated, eyes darting between the little table and then Rose's attentive expression. “She's been...difficult with Cal. I mean, since what happened on the Titanic. She's been using some things to her advantage, if you like."

Rose stared at him. Her mouth moving an instant longer, like a strange realisation had come over her.

“I didn't know,” she said at last. Her voice was softer. “...I suppose it would account for some of Cal's behaviour today.”

Jack shook his head quickly.

“I'm not trying to excuse him, not at all. But none of this has been easy on him. He isn't...I mean, he _is_ trying his best, in his own way.”

 Rose took a moment, drawing out the exhalation of another cigarette. She scowled shortly up at the sky.

“My mother lives to ruin lives, I'm quite certain of it.”

“Your mother's just upset. Maybe she'll come round eventually.”

“Jack...always seeing the good in everyone,” Rose laughed weakly. “No wonder everybody falls in love with you.”

Jack looked to the side, feeling the tug of guilt, somewhere within his stomach.

Then he felt Rose's hand, soft over his own.

“Don't misunderstand me, Jack. I didn't come here in the hope that you'd come back to me. I know that won't happen,” her smile twitched. “I just came back to thank you.”

Jack took her hand in his own, giving it a short squeeze. “You did it all by yourself, you know. You would have gotten away in the end.”

“I like to think I would have, but you still helped me,” she stood up then, with a gracious nod. “So I do thank you for that.”

She looked over her shoulder, where the bustle of the busy street seemed to be coaxing her away.

“Now, I suppose stage and screen beckons me.”

Jack caught her in an embrace, and it only reinforced his want to rectify things with Cal. And remind himself of every reason why he wanted him. 

Maybe he'd be able to prove that point to Rose too, someday.

“Stay in touch, Rose.”

“Of course we will. Good luck, Jack.”

 88

88

By the time Jack had reached the apartment he was weary and only wanted to feel Cal's mouth on his own. Perhaps some words of apology wouldn't go amiss too, but he'd settle on the kiss for now.

Opening the door, the room was dark, and then he noticed Cal lying strewn across the couch, bathed by dim moonlight that streamed through the window. His arm hung over the side of the couch, close to a half-empty glass of brandy. He was fast asleep.

Jack tutted, and walked the rest of the way over to meet him.

"Evening, sleeping beauty."

He sat on the edge of the couch and paused, before very gently brushing a hand through the others unseemly hair.

Cal roused with a disturbed hum, and turned his head slightly. He looked up at Jack through heavy lidded eyes.

“...Jack,” he murmured, and began to sit up. “I was-”

“Ssh,” Jack hushed him. “It's okay. Sorry I woke you.”

He leaned down, pressing a short and gentle kiss to Cal's mouth.

Cal blinked at him, his brow furrowed with apparent confusion. He rubbed his eyes and began to struggle upright, into a sitting position. 

"...I fell asleep. I wasn't sure where you went," he took a shortened breath. "Or if you were even coming back."

"I debated it, for about half a second."

Cal glanced warily at him, as if afraid of the truth in it.

Jack smirked. "I wouldn't leave you, stupid," and he pressed another kiss on his head. "You look a mess."

Cal rubbed his eyes again, and his voice sounded uneven;

“I didn't mean to suggest that you and Rose-"

"It doesn't matter, Cal-"

"I was just...overreacting, as usual."

 “Just a _little_ bit.”

 Cal bowed his head a bit, and closed his eyes, like some kind of surrender. “I can't take it back, Dawson.”

“Nope. You can't,” Jack sat down next to him. He placed a hand on Cal's back, stroking it very lightly. “You could make it up to me, though.”

Cal spared him a sideways look.

“Jack...I do trust you.”

“Good to know.”

“And I know that Rose and I had our problems, but I don't want you to think I'm-”

“ _Cal_ , I'm already well aware that you were a prize ass to Rose. You can't take that back, either."

“I...” Cal's expression dropped some more, as if he knew that the argument was a mute point. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"I already told you, it doesn't matter."

 Cal stared at him, like he could barely believe Jack's words.

His smile was very faint, as he let Jack pull him into another kiss. 

They sat still and in the dark; long enough for Jack to know he shouldn't doubt himself, or Cal for that matter. He knew that he was sorry, and as their heads tilted together in a few moments of unspoken understanding, he felt the soft pulse of Cal's breathing with a sense of incredible relief. 

“...it isn't just about Rose, Jack.”

Jack noticed the lilt in his tone, and he straightened up a bit.

“What is it?”

Cal turned away and picked up the brandy glass. He raised it up slightly, so that the moon shone through it.

“My father has been in touch.”

Jack felt his stomach twist, but he practised a smile.

“Oh? Is he missing his dear son that much already?”

Cal snorted. “Hardly. He just decided to inform me that I'm officially broke. As of today, actually.”

“Broke?” Jack repeated the word, and it sounded hollow in his ears. “As in...no money?”

“That would be correct. I was expecting it to happen sooner or later. Just not quite so soon, I suppose,” Cal tipped back the rest of the brandy, and then turned his head, his throat moving with an uneven swallow. “Now we get to experience the rootless lifestyle quite legitimately, it seems.”

Jack blinked at him, instantly recognising the apprehension, the _fear_ , already dancing behind Cal's deceptively cool gaze.

And it all made so much more sense now; every reason why Cal had been so eager and insistent about getting an apartment, the whirlwind of viewings, and then the impatient rush to look into a gallery for Jack's drawings.

Cal had wanted to get it all, before all the money was cut off.

Jack curled his hand into Cal's, and squeezed it tightly.

“...can he actually do that? Can he really take away all your money?”

Cal shrugged, with a resigned face. “It's only an inheritance, Dawson, and I haven't earned a dime of it for myself. He can leave it to whomever he pleases in the end. He could leave it to the neighbour's damned dog if he wanted to, just to spite me. And he probably will.”

Jack hardly knew what to say. The situation had become dire, and so suddenly. Imagined problems relating to Rose had faded off into a backdrop of inconveniences; they suddenly seemed so small, and Cal's foul mood at least had some explanation.

It wasn't an excuse, but Jack guessed it truly was reason enough now.

And even if Jack put no stock on money himself, that wasn't the issue anymore. They both knew that.

Jack didn't care about small luxuries. He could live out of pocket very easily. But Cal wasn't that, and the question was if he would, or if he even _could_.

Cal looked at Jack then, his expression sobering some more.

“My father tells me he'll give me the money, on the condition that I return home.”

Jack took a much needed breath. “Well, that sounds reasonable, doesn't it?”

Cal's smile became much fainter. His fingers curled some more, almost painfully, into Jack's. 

“ _Without_ you Jack. He means for me to go home, without you.”

 

88

88

 

an: woooo another chapter at last. Thanks for reading and please comment. It motivates me!

 

 

 


	12. Incident

**Incident**

88

88

Jack awoke in some unusual disorientation.

He generally slept pretty well, and his dreams often reflected that. Images of walking along busy streets that shone with brilliant sunlight, or perhaps the direct contrast of an abandoned snatch of countryside.

Either way, it was always very beautiful.

That morning he woke with a headache, and the remnants of a dream in which he was talking to someone who wasn't listening to him anymore. He couldn't remember who it was, and they might have died. It was like a subtle nightmare, creeping up and getting more uncomfortable with every passing moment.

Rain was pattering against the window sill, and Jack blinked, noticing the pacing silhouette of the cat somewhere behind the curtain. It mewled loudly, tail flickering down and beneath the curtain.

"I thought it'd shut up if I let it in. No such luck, of course."

Jack sat up, automatically alert with the sound of Cal's tired voice.

Cal was sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the window as if it might be something else, far more interesting.

"Morning," he added, like a distracted afterthought.

"Good morning," Jack said. He moved the rest of the way over, to grasp his shoulders. They felt even tenser than usual. "You're up kind of early."

"Time doesn't wait, Dawson. I have things to do, places to go. I'm very important, don't you know?"

The wry edge to his tone diminished when he turned his head, and Jack could see the glitter in his eyes.

"Where are you going?" Jack almost didn't want to know the answer.

He clutched Cal's shoulders a bit tighter.

"Where do you think? An interview, of course. And I'm 'going' to be late at this rate."

"...interview?" Jack repeated the word dumbly. "What do you..."

"It's for a sales position. Very boring," Cal interrupted, and began brushing his shirt down with a tutting sound. "I wish we still had Bardot on hand. Our laundry skills are beyond dire, Dawson."

Jack began to help him straighten his collar. "... so you're going for an interview?"

"That's what I said. Barely a few seconds ago, if you recall."

Jack could hardly believe it, and though he was happy- no,  _elated_ \- he couldn't actually bring himself to voice it anymore.

There was something oddly sad about it; like guilt chipping away at his insides, whenever he looked at Cal's paled expression for any extended length of time.

And it was Jack's fault.

"Cal, you don't have to do this."

Cal scoffed. "What are you talking about, Dawson?"

"You don't have to go for the job."

"Ah, but sadly I must. Despite your idealistic and admittedly very romantic views on life, we still need money to live, Dawson," Cal pulled a face, more to himself. "God knows, my father is right about that."

He stood up, but Jack held his wrist, keeping him in place.

"I mean...I don't expect you to do any of this."

Cal frowned. "Any of what? Jack, I still don't understand what you're blathering about."

"I mean...I don't expect you to stay here...with me. It's okay if you decide to go back."

Cal baulked, and looked far more insulted than surprised.

"You think I want to do _that_?" he kept his gaze ahead, and his stance was stoic, his jaw very clenched. Jack noticed his hands, twitching into tighter fists. "You think I'd go crawling back to him, after all of this...?"

"No, I didn't mean-"

"You do talk some absolute _trash_ , Jack," Cal pulled quickly out of his grip, and marched over to the window.

There, he tugged open the curtain in one rough sweep.

The mewling cat glared at him, it's back arching, but it still didn't leave the sill.

Cal looked at it with a scornful face. "Why couldn't it be a friendly cat? After all we've done for it, you'd think it'd be damn grateful to us."

Jack stared between them, and then the cat slowly turned away and slipped out the window and out of sight, as it'd acknowledged Cal's words.

"Hah. Prefers getting soaked to people. Stupid thing."

"It's just scared." Jack said, and rubbed his eyes as he got up. "Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to sound like I was-"

"Don't apologise," Cal said. He looked over his shoulder at Jack, and his expression seemed to soften. "Aren't you going to wish me luck, then?"

Jack smirked a bit.

"I thought you made your own, or something like that?"

"It doesn't hurt to have a bit extra, does it?"

Jack shook his head. "I guess not," and he closed the smallest gap between them.

"...I told you, I'm going to be late," Cal broke the kiss, with a reluctant half-smile. His sigh was drawn out. "You are a bad influence, Dawson."

Jack laughed. "if that means I get to see you a little longer, my conscience is totally clear."

Cal seemed surprised by the words, then he shook his head.

"And you still think I could leave you?" he muttered. "Unbelievable."

Jack opened his mouth, but any appropriate words hung unspoken in his throat, since Cal was already turning away and leaving the bedroom.

He was pulling on his jacket and muttering about the weather, on some sort of agitated autopilot, before Jack finally caught his shoulder again.

"What's wrong?" Cal asked, his concentration focused on fastening a briefcase. "I already told you I'm going to be late-"

"Nothing," Jack shook his head, even as he noticed the pallid sheen on the other's face. "Is it very far? I mean, for the interview?"

"Just a couple of blocks. Why?"

"Just take it easy, that's all."

Cal raised a brow at him.

"What's your plan for today, anyway? Besides charm an old lady or two with another one of your drawings?"

"Hah," Jack cleared his throat. "Well, we'll see. I have some other ideas."

"Oh? Like what?"

"I was thinking about maybe looking for something that can bring us some actual money. You know, like a proper job, I guess."

Cal stared at him, as if he'd said something extremely insulting.

"Don't be so ridiculous," he said after a moment, and shrugged on his coat. "I'm already looking into that gallery now, anyway. Whether you like it or not."

"But Cal-"

"But  _nothing_ ," Cal slammed shut his briefcase, his face becoming stern. "I've already found a couple of potentials, Dawson. Don't make me look a  _complete_  fool, now."

Jack blew out a sigh, more touched in the moment than he was apprehensive about Cal's stubborn attitude.

"So...it's still happening, then?"

Cal looked irritated in his confusion. "Is what still happening?"

"...this," Jack looked shortly round the room.

He couldn't possibly surmise the whirlwind of their relationship in so many words. Besides, the idea of it ending made his throat seem to clam up again.

"I mean...us."

There was a pause between them, as Cal nodded. A proper smile was vying to reach him at last.

"Yes. It's  _all_  still happening, Dawson. I promise."

Jack breathed out a sigh he didn't know he'd been holding.

"That's good."

"I should hope so."

Another pause, and then Cal cleared his throat, and his smile suddenly became far more braced;

"My father thinks he can throw a wrench into the works, as usual. But he can't. Not this time."

88

88

If he had only been touched before, Jack was apprehensive again now; even as he wandered through the city, with the sun already peeking from behind grey clouds.

It'd stopped raining, at least.

It wasn't that he thought Cal would change his mind. In a way he  _knew_  that he wouldn't; he recognised the quiet determination that simmered in the other's eyes now. Jack knew Cal better than he ever had, and he knew that Cal wasn't going to back down anymore.

It was supposed to be a good thing, but ironically it worried Jack more than anything else.

"This is a bit unexpected. Twice in as many days?"

Rose was smiling from under her umbrella, but it was subdued, like she knew something might be wrong.

"Sorry if you're busy, just tell me to clear off and I will."

"Nonsense, I'd never dream of it," then Rose looked at him more carefully. "Have I...have I caused any trouble between you two? It wasn't my intention to-"

"Of course you've not," Jack said. "It's nothing to do with that."

Rose bristled. "Am I so insignificant?" but she was still smiling.

They walked along the street; it was busier than usual despite the so-so weather, and every so often Rose stopped at a shop window, to look at something with hungrier eyes.

She hadn't gone into much detail about her means for living, and Jack didn't think it was any of his business. He guessed and hoped that she must finding her feet somehow.

She looked back at him, as if suddenly reading his thoughts.

"I got the part," she announced. "At the audition I was telling you about. I think it went very well."

"That's amazing," Jack said. "Seriously. So you'll be earning your own way?"

"Yes. My next step into the big wide world, so to speak. You must come see me perform."

Jack tried to practise a better smile. "I'm happy for you."

Rose didn't miss anything, and her expression quickly sobered.

"What's happened, Jack?"

"I..."

Jack considered _all_ the things that had happened; a merciless stream of recent memories pouring through his mind, making him want to sit down with the force of such unexpected emotions.

He couldn't tell her everything, though. It wasn't fair on Cal, and he'd only think of it as another blow to his fragile pride.

"I'm just worried...about things."

Rose nodded, as if Jack wasn't being so vague.

"It's always going to be difficult, Jack. You know that, don't you?"

Jack barely nodded his head.

The realisation had always been there, and though it'd never been properly worded by Cal himself, there had always been that implication. It was what had made everything such a huge sacrifice between the both of them.

It wasn't enough to come from different backgrounds. He'd fallen in love with another man, too. Just to be extra inconvenient.

Jack smirked weakly. That was definitely something Cal would say.

"But isn't that wonderful?" Rose said.

"...I'm sorry?"

"I mean, doesn't that just prove...doesn't it _show_  you, just how much Cal wants this to work out?" Rose averted her eyes. "If I know Cal, he's stubborn and close-minded. He won't budge for anyone, and he doesn't  _listen_  to anyone either. He's an absolute nightmare of a human."

Jack snorted. "And here I thought you two might eventually patch things up."

Rose shook her head. "Don't misunderstand me. What I'm saying is that despite all of that, he's still done all of this. He's still moved out here, and he's still with you. Doesn't that tell you something important, Jack?"

Jack swallowed down the pangs of his guilt, all of it manifested in a nauseous feeling.

"I can't help but think he'd do better without me."

Rose laughed loudly.

"Believe me, Jack. If anyone could do better, it's definitely you."

She seemed to amend her words then, with an apologetic glance.

"But then I would say that, wouldn't I?" her smile became weaker. "The point is...it wouldn't matter who the man in question was that you're living with. It wouldn't matter whether his background was rich or poor. It's always going to be a difficult situation."

She unhooked her arm from him, to go to look through another shop window. There were pretty hats hung all over the display, along with glittering rich gowns and jewellery.

"I remember a time when Cal would've bought me all of this," Rose sighed, almost wistfully. "How absurd."

Jack followed her gaze, imagining it all for himself. He wasn't very surprised.

Rose and Cal were not a good match, but Jack couldn't help but imagine them kissing, with a strange burn in his throat.

"Rose. Do you think you  _ever_  loved him?"

"No," Rose said, without even a pause. She turned her head, to consider Jack up and down. "But I never gave him much of a chance, either. Not like you did."

"Cal isn't half so bad as you think, Rose."

"So you've told me," Rose hesitated. "I'll just take your word for it."

She started to walk ahead, to the next window.

"Come to dinner," Jack said after her, not really thinking on it.

"What?"

"Come to dinner with us, one evening next week. You'll still be in town, right?"

"Well...I suppose I will be now."

"Good.  _Great_. We'll do that, then."

Rose looked amused. "Won't Cal have a small heart attack when he sees me again?"

"He'll be fine. It'll all be fine."

Even as he spoke, Jack realised he was only putting into practise his usual optimism.

Most of the time it was warranted, but as he said his goodbyes to Rose, and she asked him again if everything was alright, he nodded too automatically. And the third 'fine' sounded like the faintest copy. Meaningless and much harder to decipher.

Rose didn't look very convinced, either.

8

The rain was falling again before he'd reached the apartment.

Cal would be home soon, and Jack would ask him how the interview had gone. Cal would probably tell him it was fine and dismiss any further reassurances, like he always did. Jack would agree with him, and say it'd be fine too.

Everything just seemed 'fine' lately, even though it wasn't.

The skittish cat was waiting for him when he got back, staring through the glass window.

"You again?" Jack smiled, and opened the window. "Come on in, then."

The cat continued to stare at him, but didn't move.

"Have it your way," Jack shrugged.

He sat down and began doodling in his sketchpad; memories of faces he'd bumped into that day, then the sweeping and graceful arc of Rose in her spring clothes, and then the well considered frown of Cal's lips.

Jack could draw those in his sleep.

He was disturbed by a succession of fast knocks at the door. There was something too urgent about them, and it made Jack's heart beat faster.

He dropped his sketchpad on the floor, and ran to answer the door.

"Sir?"

It was a portly man that Jack didn't recognise, just standing there. The name 'Smithe' was clearly printed on the badge on his breast pocket, before Jack realised he was a policeman.

"What's wrong?" his mouth became dry.

"Sir, are you a friend of Mr. Hockley's?"

"Cal? What's wrong- what's happened-"

"Sir-"

Jack pushed past the man, as if Cal would be waiting somewhere behind him, and offer up an easy explanation for himself.

"Sir, stay calm...there's been an incident."

A hand clamped on his shoulder, and for a few horrific moments Jack wondered how he would ever survive without Cal.

88

88

"Are you feeling much better?"

"Yes, _obviously_. Stop asking me that."

"I'm sorry."

Jack was sorry, but his heart had only just begun to settle back into his chest; like a slow shift back into some kind of normality.

With it, the pieces of the afternoon were pulling themselves back together, and Jack pressed another kiss to Cal's bruised forehead, ignoring his exasperated sighs.

"Honestly, Jack. I'm fine now."

"You should have gone to the doctors. Just to be safe."

Cal rolled his eyes. "I only fainted. Everybody overreacted. And quite unnecessarily."

"You fainted in the _road_ ," Jack corrected. "You could have been killed, Cal."

"Well I wasn't," Cal smiled tightly. "Instead I was terribly humiliated. I don't know which is more preferable, thinking about it."

"Don't say that," Jack said, and kissed him again. "You're so stupid."

"And you're so charming, Dawson."

"Well I love you," Jack said, not really thinking about it.

Cal seemed to flinch at the words.

"...hah," he said, and pushed Jack feebly away. "At least I got the interview out the way before all of that...inconvenience. I think it went quite well, actually. I should hear from them in the next week or so."

Jack grimaced. "Can't you stop thinking about work? Look what it's done to you."

"I was just tired."

"Exactly. So you need to  _rest_."

"We need money, in case you'd forgotten that small detail."

"I can get a job, I told you. You don't need to worry about it."

Cal's smile became sardonic. "And I already told  _you_ , you needn't do that."

"Cal. We don't have the money anymore. We both need to work. Your father won't-"

"You think I don't realise that," Cal's voice rose in sudden and angry indignance. Then he flinched again, unrelated to anything that Jack might have told him.

He closed his eyes, pressing a hand to his injured head.

"Look...just let me sort these things out, Dawson.  _Please_. They're my silly concerns."

Jack stared at him in some despair.

He realised it now; Cal was too proud. All the flashes of romantic gestures; the idea of tossing away money as if it might equal some kind of affection, whether it be for Rose or Jack himself, was all that Cal seemed to know.

Without his money he was at a loose end; rendered fairly useless and lost.

Jack pulled Cal's hands into his own.

"Listen, I don't want it to be like this."

Cal opened his eyes.

"Like what?" he said warily.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to provide for us. I don't want you to think money is so important."

"But it  _is_  important. If we want to live here, it's the most important thing, Jack."

Jack shook his head. "I'd be just as happy living in a box. Maybe a little less comfortable, but it'd do, so long as you're around."

"There you go again," Cal said, but there was an edge of resignation in his tone. "That idealistic nonsense."

He slowly massaged his temples.

"It was an old lady that helped me," he continued, in a softer voice. "I never felt so foolish in my life, Dawson. They were all staring at me, and she was so _old and frail_ , trying to help me...and I couldn't even pick myself up again..."

"It wasn't your fault. You were unwell."

"I suppose," Cal scowled. "It won't happen again, though."

"No, it won't," Jack nodded, and lifted a hand, to gently touch Cal's face. "Not if I can help it, anyway. I'll force you into that bed if I have to."

"Is that so?" Cal's mouth arched up a bit. "And how will you do that?"

"I have lots of ideas, don't you worry about that."

He slid the rest of the way over, pulling Cal into a soft but wanting kiss. Cal didn't resist.

Between murmured and broken sounds, Jack spoke under his breath;

"I just wish you'd told me you weren't feeling so well."

"...It was only a headache...didn't want to worry you..."

"I'd much prefer you to worry me than to lie to me."

Jack felt Cal's mouth, arcing a smile against his own.

"But you never worry about anything, Dawson..."

"You're so wrong, it kind of hurts," Jack said, and kissed him harder.

Within the moans that followed, Jack's eyes prickled as he remembered the terror that had reached him only a little while earlier.

The prospect that he might lose Cal again, and how terrible the consequence might have been.

Jack kissed him more deeply. He didn't think he could let him go.

88

88

It was more than a worry, but Jack decided he'd let it go for now.

Cal was working himself too hard, that was all. He just needed some gentle nudging into the direction of the bed a little more often than usual.

It worked to both their advantages really, and there was nothing more wonderful than waking up late to see Cal's sleepy face and unkempt hair, the way his eyes reluctantly cracked open against summer sunlight, and then the groan that turned into something else, when Jack managed to convince him to stay there a little longer.

"I got the job," Cal said, on one of those lazy mornings. "I start next week."

"Congratulations," Jack was unable to hide his surprise. "When did you find out about that?"

"Yesterday," Cal looked sheepish. "But I wanted to sleep on it. I don't sell myself to just anybody, you know."

"I know," Jack grinned, and kissed him on the mouth. "We should celebrate. And make the most of these lie-ins while we still can."

"Hm," Cal looked thoughtful. He started to sit up, pulling a hand through his hair. "Perhaps we can go out for dinner somewhere?"

Jack repressed an excited smile. "If you want to? You can pick."

"Of course I'm picking, Dawson. If you remember, last time didn't go exactly as planned."

"You liked it in the end."

"Only because I was blind drunk," Cal said, and then looked back at Jack with a more considered gaze. "I mean...it was a nice place, don't get me wrong. But you know what I mean."

Jack nodded.

He knew precisely. They needed to go somewhere more low-key, somewhere that wouldn't bring any sort of unwanted attention to them.

It was then that he remembered Rose, and the invitation he'd sent out to her, on that wishful whim.

Looking at Cal's oblivious back now, it seemed like a good idea.

"Perhaps Rose can come along?"

"What?" Cal laughed, and it sounded full of disbelief. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I invited her," Jack said, and he watched Cal's frame still, as he knelt down to something on the floor.

"I see," he said, after a moment. "You still want to see her."

"It's not like that. And she's still your-"

"She's nothing to do with me anymore, Jack," Cal snapped. "If you want to see her I can't very well stop you, can I? Just don't involve me in you affairs."

"Affairs? Cal, I've already told you I don't think of her-"

"And I'm telling you,  _right now_ , I don't want anything to do with it."

"Cal..."

Jack took a breath, composing his own frustrations. He waited a few more beats, relieved that Cal hadn't taken the easy out, and just stormed out the room.

"I just want Rose to see how happy you are."

"How happy I am...?" Cal trailed off, the sarcasm in his tone fading away. " _Honestly, Dawson_..."

"I know it's difficult-"

"Putting it lightly."

"-but Rose is still a friend of mine."

"I  _understand that_ ," Cal sounded full of contempt, but he didn't say anything else.

The silence stretched out between them, and within it Jack took another breath. The tension felt lighter, somehow.

He watched Cal's prone back, and the way his shoulders shifted with another breath.

"It's letting me touch it."

"What?" Jack blinked in brief confusion.

He leaned over, suddenly noticing the grey cat sitting on the floor, rubbing it's head into Cal's hand.

"It almost seems to like me," Cal sounded dully surprised. "Small miracle."

Jack crouched on the floor, next to him. He kept his eyes on the cat, listening to the drone of it's purrs.

"It likes you a lot, Cal."

"Like I said, small miracle, isn't it?"

Jack shook his head. "You must be a cat person after all."

"I doubt it. I just took pity on it," Cal quickly withdrew his hand, and the cat took a few steps toward him, before seeming to remember itself.

It backed up, and sprang up onto the window sill. It lingered only a moment, and it's glare was like a betrayal, before it'd disappeared out of sight again.

"It'll be back," Cal grumbled. "Your fault for feeding the damn thing."

"And it likes you," Jack reiterated, enjoying the way Cal's scowl softened.

He seemed to flounder a moment. Uncertainty on Cal's face always made Jack's heart ache, and then the incredible urge to pull him into an embrace that might be some temporary reassurance.

Cal had composed himself again before Jack could consider it this time.

"...one dinner, Jack. And that's it."

Jack smiled, and reached Cal's collar, drawing him into an embrace, anyway.

"Thank you," and then a kiss.

"...I must be a fool," Cal murmured, but didn't sound particularly annoyed about it anymore.

Jack laughed, and then there was an echo of the words he'd been saying too many times these past few weeks;

"It'll be fine."

Cal just looked at him in much the same way Rose had.

88

88

 


End file.
